







"by* 



v.* 




*<>/♦..- 















^W 




* *°"° a ^ " i -v 

\/ .•«£. %s .-ate w 



*e> 






<► *'T7T«' O 1 






<K "o , A * A 



■'% c°*..i^:.% " ^ 



> v ..u 



4^ • 









^9 • 5 



^ ^ 

**">* 




















"V^'.-^fei-." ♦*-.♦♦ '/* "^ ^ 



.♦ V "V. 

















v*wV 



I- *«* -'Ilk- v* 4 






It *o- ♦ **^#B^% -a** ^» • s^^* , « 






* .«? 















V „**v 






%<< 



^ v ^ •.««?,* <& 



£*<. 



THE AUTHORS' HAND-BOOK SERIES 

THE FEATURE 
PHOTOPLAY 

A COMPLETE AND CONSTRUCTIVE TREAT- 
MENT OF THE PHOTODRAMAS MOST 
PROFITABLE AND MOST PERMA- 
NENT FORM 

From Beginning to End 

A PRACTICAL TREATISE 

Together with New-Method Casts, a Seven-Part 

Synopsis and Portions of Working 

Scenarios 

Interpolated with Copious Examples and Arranged 

with a View to Its Use as a Text-Book 

for Individual or Class Room 

Study 

By 

HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

Author of "The Plot of the Short Story," "Art in Short Story 
Narration," "The Universal Plot Catalog," The Photo- 
drama," Associate Editor of The Motion Picture 
Magazine, Lecturer and Instructor in Photo- 
drama in the Brooklyn Institute of 
Arts, and in the Y. M. C. A. 

Introduction By 

EUGENE V. BREWSTER 

Founder, Editor and Publisher of The Motion Picture Magazine, 
The Motion Picture Classic, Shadowland, etc. 

THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL, INC. 

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 

1921 






COPYRIGHT 1921 
THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL, INC. 



JAN -3 1922 

©CI.A653408 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 

INTRODUCTION 
FOREWORD 



PART I— THEORY 
L— THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY ... 3 
Evolution ; Viewpoints of Audience, 
Producer and Writer; the Exhibitor's 
Problems ; Types and Duration ; Essen- 
tials. 

II.— DIVIDING THE PLAY INTO PARTS 

—AND WHY 13 

Comparisons ; the Play of an Hour ; 
Precedents ; Mechanical Harmony ; 
Psychology of Interest. 

III.— THE UTILITY OF A STANDARD 

FORM 25 

Getting Together ; Co-ordination ; 
Wasted Time ; Chaos ; Demand for 
Intelligence as well as Mechanics; In- 
terpreters All ; Original Stories the 
Demand ; the Essentials to Progress. 

IV.— PHOTODRAMA VERSUS PICTURES 35 
"Pictures" not a Synonym ; Only a 
Background ; Significance of "Scene" ; 
The "Pretty Play"; the Star System. 

V.— TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS ... 45 
Among those Present; the Pageant 
and Spectacle; the Fate of the Short 
Play; Series and Serials and Literary 
Comparisons; Which are Photodrama 
or Feature Photoplay ? 

iii 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGK 

VI.— METHODS OF PRESENTATION . . 57 
Presentation and Expression the Art- 
ist-Author ; Phases of Presentation ; 
the Destiny of a Photoplay. 

VII.— THE PERSONALITY OF PLAYS . . 62 
Play Character ; Farce ; Comedy ; 
Comedy-Drama ; Drama ; Melodrama ; 
Tragedy. 

VIII.— THE ART OF TREATMENT ... 76 
Personalities ; Plot-Children ; The 
Photo of Idea, of Theme (Combina- 
tions), of Propaganda, of Character, 
of Charm, of Fantasy, of Atmosphere, 
of Dynamic Situation, of Dramatic 
Climax, of Satire, of Mystery ; Ingenue 
and Juvenile Photodrama; Captions. 

PART II— TECHNIQUE 

IX.— THE BIG IDEA 93 

Technique as Interpreter ; the Purpose 
of Art and Photodrama ; Eternal Cod- 
dling ; Visualized Emotion ; Popular 
Psychology ; Thematic Requirements ; 
Impressionism ; What is a Big Idea ; 
Endurance. 

X.— PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT ... 98 
Definition ; Materials ; Sources; Prob- 
lem of Originality ; What is Counter- 
plot; Differentiation; Germ, Fragment, 
and Complete Plot. 

XL— DRAMA'S CONVERGING LINES . . 105 
Contrast ; in Terms of Emotion ; Emo- 
tion vs. Feeling ; Conflict, Struggle, 
Conquest ; Dramatic Unities ; the Dra- 

iv 






CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

raatic Sense; the Dramatic Opportu- 
nity ; the Diagram ; the Ever Tight- 
ening Lines. 

XII.— LIFE-GIVING MOTIVATION . . . 118 
Planting Motivation ; Contrast Again ; 
the Part of Interest; Organism vs. Or- 
ganization ; the Snappy Beginning ; the 
Effect of Counterplot ; Action and Move- 
ment ; Reason for Things ; Happen- 
ings ; Compression ; Deeds ; the Lead 
Motivates ; Expectation ; Idea in Ac- 
tion ; Appeal to Sensations ; Action 
and Reaction. 

XIII.— SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE AND CON- 
SEQUENCE 124 

Producing in Sequence ; the Surprise ; 
Chronological and Logical Sequence ; 
the Snappy Beginning ; Counter Plot ; 
Inevitable Consequence ; Interest ; the 
Obstacle ; Suspense Breeders ; the Line 
of Least Resistance. 

XIV.— COINCIDENCE, CRISIS AND CLI- 
MAX 135 

Necessity of Cumulative Effect; Estab- 
lishing Coincidents ; Crisis Incomplete ; 
Dangers of Coincidence ; Crisis and 
Situation ; Anti-Climax ; the Punch ; 
Importance of Climax; Harmony; Be- 
ginning with the Climax ; Appealing to 
the Sensations ; Preparation for the 
Event. 

PART III.— PRACTISE 
XV.— THE VALUE OF AN OUTLINE . . 147 
Visualization ; Art and Psychology ; 
Coincidence Again ; Mechanical Plus 



CONTENTS 



Artistic ; Impressionism ; Elements of 
Interest ; Contrast and Motivation ; Be- 
ginning, Middle, and End ; Harmony ; 
Repetitive Effects. 

XVI.— DEFINITIONS OF WORKING TERMS 157 
Title ; Motive ; Cast ; Outline ; Synop- 
sis ; Continuity ; Scenario ; Manu- 
script ; Photoplay ; Photodrama ; Plot, 
Complete Plot, Plot Fragment, Plot 
Germ. 

XVII.— CASTING CHARACTERS .... 162 
Characters vs. Actors ; Not Panto- 
mime ; Expression, Not Acting ; Husks 
or Spirit ; Symbols Again ; Interpret- 
ers Only ; Spiritual Meetings ; Star 
System ; Revealing Motif ; "Character" 
Roles ; Expression Emphatic but not 
Exaggerated; Differentiation; Leads 
and Good and Bad Characters ; Inter- 
play ; Naturalness. 

XVIII.— BUILDING BY PARTS 173 

Beginning with the Climax ; Plotting 
Methods ; Questions to be Answered ; 
Part Building ; Diagram and Counter- 
plotting ; Climaxes ; Motivation. 

XIX.— THE READABLE SYNOPSIS ... 178 
Mental Building ; Visualization Again ; 
Importance of Character ; Silent Dra- 
ma ; Length of Synopsis ; Suggestion ; 
Motivation ; Immediacy ; Paragraphic 
Sequences ; Harmony ; Vision ; Desire 
and Struggle ; Style and Tempo ; Lit- 
erary Garnishings ; Readibility ; Play 
of an Hour; All There is to Tell; 
Concrete Action. 

vi 



CONTENTS 
PART IV— DEMONSTRATION 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XX.— THE WORKING SCENARIO ... 205 
Test of a Scene ; Texture of Ideas ; 
Scene and Set ; Action and Reaction ; 
Crying Need ; Location and Environ- 
ment ; Interpreters Only ; Interest and 
Coincident ; Motivation and Plausibil- 
ity ; Captions ; Technique ; Sequence and 
Harmony ; Nothing Static ; Emphatic 
but not Exaggerated ; Progressive Play ; 
Movement and Action ; Tempo ; Meth- 
ods ; Naturalness ; Diagram and Coun- 
terplot; Use of Dialogue. 

XXL— SEVERAL EFFECTIVE CASTS . . 218 
"The Romance of a Self-Made Widow" ; 
"The Princess from the Poorhouse" ; 
"Heiress for a Day." 

XXIL— AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS ... 226 
"Pierre Le Grand." 

XXIIL— SCENARIOS THAT HAVE BEEN 

DONE 268 

"One of Us" ; "Just a Song at Twi- 
light" ; "Bonnie Annie Laurie"; "The 
Red Republic." 



INTRODUCTION 

DURING my ten years of daily print contact 
with the ever-growing motion-picture world, 
several facts have been poignantly outstanding. 

The foremost of these facts has been an insatiable 
hunger for motion-picture knowledge. A depart- 
ment has been maintained by demand from the first 
issue of my publications, known as "The Answer 
Man." No fact is too small, no detail too trivial, no 
incident too personal, for the inquisitiveness of 
motion-picture "fans." 

But there have been many serious inquiries as 
well. One of the most persistent of these has been, 
"What is a Photoplay?" On first thought, an ade- 
quate answer seems obvious. Why, a Photoplay 
is — is — We can, and have, answered it in a dozen 
or more ways. But the answers were never broad 
comprehensive, nor profound enough. To define 
the Photoplay in a word or two, is like trying to 
girt the earth with a tape-measure. 

It is because this Photoplay is such a great and 
wonderful subject, that defies a brief or a hasty 
definition, that it has become the great medium of 
universal entertainment. 

And this persistent question is being asked just 
as much in studios everywhere today: What is a 
Photoplay? There are nods, there are shakes of 



INTRODUCTION 

the head, there are grave replies and flippant re- 
sponses — but there is also a wide awaking to the fact 
that one is not quite so sure after all just exactly 
what is the nature of this Eighth Wonder of the 
world. A dozen people will give you a dozen an- 
swers — all different. 

There have been many books written about the 
screen in general, and there have been scores written 
telling aspirants How to Write Photoplays. But I 
do not know one that has even approached the text 
that follows this Introduction, in delving into the 
darkest depths of Photodrama and emerging tri- 
umphant with a clear, concise, yet well-rounded, 
answer to the baffling question — which I have often 
found myself repeating — What is a Photoplay? 

But this text offers a rare additional service, 
which cannot go unappreciated, for it tells How to 
Write a Photoplay! 

Eugene V. Brewster 



A Picture is one thing, Drama an- 
other; one is the still re-presenta- 
tion of an Image that was in the 
mind of an Artist, the other is the 
living presentation of an Emotion 
that is in the heart of an Audience. 

FOREWORD 

SEVERAL years have elapsed since the 
publication of my first book on the cinema 
art — "The Photodrama." These have been 
years of sunshine and harvest. All that I had 
dared to dream of the newest Art has been 
justified by an occasional glimpse of new 
buds of promise that have contained some of 
the imperishable grandeur of the perfect 
flower. 

The Spectacle of "Intolerance" will never 
fade from the human vision that has once 
glimpsed it. Therein millions of spectators 
sensed the bigness of their own little- 
esteemed souls as they peered back a thou- 
sand years through the ten-acre sweep of a 
great genius's vision ensnared on a mite of 
a screen. 

The greatest canvas painted by the greatest 
artist never gave us half the breath-taking 
perspective of some of those scenes of "In- 
tolerance." The greatest dramatic Spectacle 



FOREWORD 

or Pageant ever before staged never put half 
so many people in action. Fiction only at- 
tempts to stimulate the imagination by sug- 
gesting the presence of such great numbers 
of people spread over such a great area. 

Thus we find three of the greatest of the 
Fine Arts would be beggared in trying to 
furnish a vision similar to that to be found in 
a single expression of a single phase of the 
Art of the Photodrama. 

But we find something in this newest of 
the Arts that none other of the Fine Arts has ; 
that is, the animated deed — the verisimilitude 
of Life itself! 

It is no less idle to contend that the Photo- 
drama will usurp the spheres of other me- 
diums of artistic expression, than it is to insist 
that the Photodrama is ephemeral and but 
the whim of a restless public. 

The Arts are etern«i verities; and because 
we have lived to see the miracle of a new 
medium of artistic expression emerge from 
the brain of science, like a latter-day Athe- 
na, there is no reason to conclude, like the 
yokel who gazed for the first time on the un- 
believable lines of the camel, that it is "Im- 
possible! There is no such animal!" 

The painted canvas is one thing; the ani- 
mated screen another. The expression of the 



FOREWORD 

technical artist in fashioning either of them 
to produce even a similar impression on a 
spectator, is as different as night from day. 
One has the glory of the sun — take your 
choice — another the glory of the moon, and 
still others have the glory of the stars. Let 
us thank heaven for the number and range 
of the Fine Arts. 

We have lived, then, to see not only the 
birth of a new Art, but also its day of accla- 
mation. We are privileged to be contempo- 
raneous with the arrival of a new medium for 
the expression of the infinite. We may now 
see with our eyes the eternal, living vision 
just as it was created in the soul of Man- 
With-A-Message. 

Let him who doubts the birth of a new Art, 
stand outside the cinema theaters of the 
world, at noon, at dusk, or at night, and try 
to count — if he can during the years of his 
life — the millions that enter in the span of a 
single day! 

If he still doubts, let him enter one of the 
lowliest of these temples of the new Art. 
In that single shrine he will find sufficient 
emotion released to shatter the soul of the 
strongest man God has created, if it were 
housed in a single breast. And if he still 
doubts, let him witness "Civilization," "The 



FOREWORD 

Birth of a Nation," "The Barrier" — any one 
of them. Let him count the tears that fall, 
if he can. Then let him stand up and if he 
dares declare, "This is all fol-de-rol!" 

And if he still doubts — and there are those 
who do — he is a fool. For that which daily 
can move a million to laugh and cry is, verily, 
nothing short of a Fine Art. 

A strange paradox has risen, however, in 
that the small number of possible doubters 
are not always to be found among the vast 
audience that daily witness the new Drama, 
but among the manufacturers who make it 
possible to produce the Photodrama. 

There seems to be a doubt of the classifica- 
tion of the cinema Art. Is it a matter of pro- 
gressive Pictures or one of cumulative 
Drama, that is the question? 

Thus we find producers who are subor- 
dinating the principle of Drama to the prac- 
tice of employing fine Pictures. The idea 
seems to be that an unbroken series of pleas- 
ing Pictures are more essential than a chain 
of gripping situations that may have nothing 
scenically pleasing about them. Scenes are 
only a means to our dramatic end. 

That a director has at his command a 
splendid estate that may be photographed, or 
an actress a dozen handsome gowns spoiling 



FOREWORD 

to be worn, or an actor a fine riding horse 
that needs exercising, or the studio a ballroom 
set all ready for a glittering dance, are quite 
aside from the question of putting on a play 
the dramatic action of which calls for scenes 
laid exclusively among the po' whites in the 
mountains of Kentucky. Many an enter- 
prising producer is prone to the temptation 
of subverting his Drama to meet the employ- 
ment of his immediate Scenic Equipment. 

Thus do we witness many a fine dramatic 
idea that has been garbled to afford a vehicle 
for the scenery and settings at hand. One 
company used to have a menagerie that was 
continually eating its head off unless the wild 
beasts could appear daily — which they did in 
the most amazing places. Several other com- 
panies have expensive screen children who 
are forced upon parents who were never 
dramatically constituted to have children. 

Beautiful Pictures on the screen are only 
animated photographs, unless they enhance 
the dramatic atmosphere, suspense or climax. 
Appropriate beauty is always a desirable at- 
tribute of Art. 

Next we have the sensational Pictures in 
which the thrilling sensation is supposed to 
take the place of the Dramatic Situation. 
For instance, an entire passenger train is run 



FOREWORD 

into an open draw-bridge in order that the 
villain may wreak vengeance on the hero. 
Hundreds of innocent passengers are sceni- 
cally destroyed — but the hero is rescued! 
Thus we prove that the scene was devised as 
a scenic sensation and not as a dramatic con- 
tingency at all. 

On the other hand, it would have been 
highly dramatic for the villain to set out to 
kill our hero and to meet with some accident 
that imperils his life and then to be rescued 
by a man at the risk of his life — who turns 
out to be our hero! 

It is not beyond the imagination of a child 
to conceive the aforesaid railroad wreck; in 
fact, this is the child's way of obtaining 
effects. The Dramatic Situation is not so 
easy and demands the knowledge, execution 
and foresight of the Artist. The one calls for 
the risk of both life and property; the other, 
an exercise of simple histrionic talent. The 
one calls for a Spectacle, a mob, fury, a blare 
of trumpets; the other needs only a Keynote 
Scene, two people, the gentlest of emotions, 
the fading notes of a piano. 

Finally, in the Spectacle, or the multiple- 
reel Super-Feature Play, we have been wont 
to find all of the aforementioned defects. 
Glaring emphasis has been laid on Picture 



FOREWORD 

and sensationalism; little thought or anxiety 
has been spent on Dramatic cohesion and effect. 

Never has such a Spectacle been devised as 
"Intolerance." Yet that marvelous series of 
pictures reveals to us Mr. Griffith's short- 
coming — of which like so many other direc- 
tor-geniuses he does not seem to have been 
aware — namely, his want of sheer Dramatic 
cohesion. Mr. Griffith sadly needs a collab- 
orator. Yoke with him a dramatist of the 
first rank and the two could make the artistic 
world tremble. 

There is no reason, then, why the Super 
Motion Picture, the sensational Picture, and 
the Spectacle Picture may not eventually be- 
come welded into the fabric of the Feature 
Photoplay. While there are today a few 
companies only that realize the distinction 
between Pictures and Photoplays, it is to be 
hoped that all will soon come to feel the short- 
comings of the former and seriously strive to 
attain the latter's degree of perfection. 

In the hope of making that distinction clear 
in the minds of those who seek the informa- 
tion and knowledge, I am writing this, the first 
book to appear dealing with the construction 
and contradistinctions of The Feature Photo- 
play. 

Henry Albert Phillips. 



I 

THEORY 



THE FEATURE 
PHOTOPLAY 

Whether or not a given product 
shall be deemed a Feature is left to 
the Producer to decide; that it be 
first and last a Play is the only con- 
cern of the Writer. 

CHAPTER I 

the feature photoplay 

evolution; viewpoints of audience, pro- 
ducer and writer; the exhibitor's prob- 
lem; TYPES AND DURATION; ESSENTIALS. 

TODAY and forever all those concerned 
in the making of photoplays may well 
say, "The world is ours!" 

This is the mere statement of a commonly 
accepted fact. Two powerful conditions, 
fortunately, govern that possessive pronoun 
"ours"; namely, Business prowess and Artis- 
tic merit. These conditions impose competi- 
tion, which is the commercial prescription 
for a healthy life. 

The survival of the fittest has always 
seemed a cruel law to the unfit and fh<t unfit- 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ted, who in consequence are ejected from the 
high places they may have usurped by reason 
of their brilliant audacity. What really hap- 
pens is, that that slow acting creature, the 
Intelligent Public, rebels when it realizes that 
the Industry is being belittled by its products, 
or the Art is being outraged by its inter- 
preters. 

The world-wide audience ot the Photo- 
drama has come to comprehend its infinite ca- 
pacity for entertainment and now recognizes 
its claim to a niche among the Fine Arts. 
With this recognition comes the intermittent 
demand of the multitude that the constructive 
parts of the produced Photoplay be equal to 
the artistic whole of the Photodrama. 

Cinematography occupied nearly twenty 
years in passing from the dark confines of a 
mere mechanical curiosity to the dazzling 
heights of a new and permanent Art. 

The mechanical phenomenon of animated 
photographs was destined to be short-lived 
as a form of entertainment. Curiosity alone 
prompted the expenditure of the required ad- 
mission fee, and that curiosity was forever 
satiated by the murky presentment of some 
person or object in some commonplace motion 
on which most of the audience would not 
waste its attention, in actual life. 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

It took several years for the Cinema to 
progress from the simulation of mere motion 
to the imitation of Real Life. It was still 
mechanics, but the new element attracted a 
new audience. Several years again passed 
before episodes of pursuit, peril, and comic 
sequence began to appear. Curiosity had 
been supplanted by sensation. More than 
half the world loves a sensation when it can 
get it, and most of these became acquainted 
with sensation in the well-named "moving" 
pictures. 

Another long period of experimentation, 
and suddenly the imitation of life in general, 
was merged into the portrayal of a single 
life, or group of lives, in particular. Pictures 
grew into stories! A miracle had happened. 
Curiosity had been whetted, senses thrilled, 
to be sure. But now — greater by far than 
either of these phenomena — the emotions 
were stirred. 

Exactly what happened from now on does 
not concern us so much, for that is mere his- 
tory. What we students are seeking is en- 
lightening psychology. For we must have 
recognized some analogy, in the groping prog- 
ress of Photoplay evolution, to the revealing 
of the spark of our own talent that glimmered 
through the years of our mechanical periods 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

of endeavor. Once within sight of the divine 
fire, however, then we know that our tiny 
spark is nothing less, and our steadfast aim 
shall be to lift our spark of true inspiration 
into an intense, mighty conflagration of per- 
fect effort. 

And so it is with Photoplay production. 
Now that we have arrived at a stage in its 
psychology where we catch an occasional 
glimpse of its dramatic potentiality and its 
pictorial possibility, our audiences will not re- 
main contented with any exhibition that is 
totally devoid of artistic value. 

It has become necessary at this point of the 
Cinema's development to turn from its me- 
chanical organization to its artistic organism. 
In the mere fact that the emotions of miscel- 
laneous groups of people had been stirred 
again and again, lay amazing possibilities. In 
the Cinema's emotional appeal alone its artis- 
tic leanings might have been vaguely sensed 
though its depth of feeling, ultimate breadth 
of appeal, and heights of magnificence were 
as yet unknown quantities. 

In the early analyses of the nature of the 
entertaining qualities of cinema presentation, 
an error crept in that has been a common 
stumbling block ever since. The aforesaid 
error grew out of the misconception that 

4 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Moving Picture presentation was nothing 
more or less than a new and artistic render- 
ing of other Arts, or semi-arts, of long estab- 
lished reputation. 

(EXAMPLE i.) We saw repeated efforts to re- 
produce, almost verbatim, the Novel ("Tess of the 
D'Urbervilles") ; the Short Story (O. Henry's); the 
Poem ("The Children's Hour"); the Song ("After 
The Ball"); the Drama ("Arizona"); Pantomime 
(the majority of early efforts were nothing more); 
Vaudeville (Charlie Chaplin, in "One A. M." par- 
ticularly) ; Slap-Stick (Keystone Comedy) ; Extrava- 
ganza ("Wizard of Oz") ; Spectacle ("Cabiria") ; the 
Circus ("When The Circus Broke Loose") ; History 
("Joan The Woman") ; — with what lack of gratifica- 
tion to the audience the reader is left to judge. 

Re-presentation at its best is only imita- 
tion. An imitation may be artistic to an es- 
thetic degree, but it is never Art. Art implies 
creation, originality, effective presentation. 
By creation, we do not mean the creation of 
an Idea; that is impossible, once we form our 
Ideas from concepts that rush into our minds. 
Art does demand, however, the creation of a 
unique medium for the expression of Ideas 
(the older and more universal the Ideas are, 
the better) in terms or symbols of emotional 
understanding. Art demands a treatment 
that conforms to the high standards of its 
specific mediums and an original Develop- 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

i.ient of a subject-matter, on the part of the 
Artist, that is inspired. Art demands of both 
its craftsmen and their selection and treat- 
ment of subject-matter that they conform 
with those exigencies of expression that gov- 
ern a given medium and contribute to its ef- 
fective presentation 

To appreciate a work of Art, one needs to 
be endowed only with a sympathetic heart 
brought into service through an intelligent 
mind. To build a work of Art, or to essay 
sound criticism of such, one must be gifted 
with a fine feeling for Beauty plus a practi- 
cal knowledge of the mechanics essential to 
giving it effective expression. A knowledge 
of its Technique is a prerequisite to the com- 
prehension of a given form of Art. 

Technique is governed by rules that re- 
strain the untutored mind. Art is guided by 
laws that liberate the refined emotions. 

Not until Photoplay producers — editors, 
directors, governing boards and proprietors ; 
actors and playwrights — come to a full com- 
prehension of the nature, construction, and 
limitations of the new form of Art expres- 
sion, may we expect it to take its rightful 
place among the Fine Arts. 

For Photodrama is a distinct form of ar- 
tistic expression as essentially different in its 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

construction and expression from other 
forms, as existing forms differ from each 
other. 

(EXAMPLE 2.) Take the Famous Players Com- 
pany. This company had for its raison d'etre rich 
treasures in stage plays collected for several decades 
by the most astute and successful producer our stage 
has known. "Famous Players interpreting Famous 
Playzvrights," was its slogan. Moving pictures were 
to ascend to their sublime destiny without delay! 
What really happened was nothing at all. Several 
stage plays were reproduced with results more flat 
than flattering. Soon the same company sent forth 
a piercing cry for material that would be adaptable 
to the screen. 

Accepting Photodrama, then, as an individ- 
ual Art, we will consider the problems that 
led to the creation of the Feature Photoplay 
as their solution. 

Just as the first crude attempts to create 
material for the screen came from the me- 
chanics of the film manufactories, so did the 
first blind steps to dictate the length of the 
plays come from the merchants at the box 
offices. 

Artistic temperament chafes under the re- 
straint of the horny hand of trade, but it is 
usually this same rough hand that makes the 
impractical dream of the Artist an everyday 
Art for the people. Manufacturers had ush- 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ered an Art into being and exhibitors had 
brought together audiences eager to see its 
presentation. It was left to the play-makers 
to study and standardize the new Art, to 
master its potential and esthetic moods, and 
finally to meet and blend both the peculiar 
limitations of production with the world-wide 
boundaries of presentation. 

The human audience is much the same the 
world over. It must first appreciate the en- 
tertainment it is being offered. If that enter- 
tainment is good, the audience should enjoy 
it. Yet every audience has its limitation of 
enjoying its favorite entertainment. That 
limitation being reached, any play will begin to 
pall. 

As the quality of Cinema production im- 
proved and Pictures began to grow into 
Plays, it was evident that audiences would 
not only acquiesce to longer productions, but 
that they actually relished them. They were 
gradually given as much as they could stand, 
until today every audience in the world would 
clamor for the longer play if it were taken 
away from them. 

(EXAMPLE 3.) Primitive exhibits began with 
short strips of film upon which any animated ob- 
jects were jerkily seen to move (a flag waving, etc.) 
Then followed 200-foot subjects wherein a definite 

8 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

movement was carried out from beginning to ena 
(a horse race). Followed 600 to 1,000 feet as the 
reel became a standard of measurement (human- 
interest began its development through exploits). 
The split-reel began to fill a current need (story- 
interest became timidly apparent in half-reel lengths 
that were supplemented by educational subjects to 
fill out the reel). Story interest supplanted all other 
"entertainment" motives (the one-reel play became 
a standard length). Two-reel subjects were essayed 
(one reel of which generally consisted of the in- 
evitable "chase"). With the advent of the three- 
reelers, the craze for the Spectacle began that seems 
likely to crop up periodically (spectacles zigzagged 
between 6-, 8-, and even 12-reel offerings. Into the 
midst of these vague gro ping s-ab out for an ef- 
fective, comfortable, and perfect form of picture- 
story expression that would fit the manufacturers' 
reel-standardization, that would satisfy the com- 
mercial problems of the exhibitors, and that would 
gratify the audiences because of its pleasing, 
length, and form, the 5-reel Photoplay sprang into 
immediate popularity. 

The pioneer exhibitor had constantly 
sought something about the numerous short 
plays that would stand out as a special "fea- 
ture." He had to choose either a bill com- 
posed entirely of short subjects or of a single 
elephantine spectacle — if indeed his contract 
permitted any choice in the matter at all. 

The 5-reel, or Feature Photoplay, as we 
shall term it hereafter, fortunately made its 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

bid for favor at a time when exhibitors began 
to enjoy a more liberal and independent serv- 
ice by the breaking up of the existing monop- 
oly among the manufacturers. They saw at 
once that they could retain their short pic- 
tures, musical offerings, and what not, but 
furthermore they could offer in addition a 
5-reeler as a special feature. 

Now we have arrived at a point where we 
may intelligently examine and discuss The 
Feature Photoplay. 



10 



Standard Form ts not an arbitrary 
Detail of a passing Mood, but a com- 
posite Assemblage of all that has 
proved effective in past Expression. 

CHAPTER II 
Dividing the Play into Parts — and Why 

comparisons; the play of the hour; prec- 
edents; MECHANICAL HARMONY; PSYCHOL- 
OGY OF INTEREST. 

JUST as variety is said to be the spice of 
life, so is variation the secret of con- 
tinued attention. As huge solid bodies repel 
physical effort, so does any unbroken mass 
weary the human powers of interest. All 
forms of genuine entertainment are therefore 
subject to the laws of esthetic fragmentation. 

(EXAMPLE 4.) Music has its rhythm, recur- 
ring motif, and refrain; Literature has its sentence, 
paragraph and chapter; Poetry has its meter, verse, 
and stanza; Drama has its lines, scenes, and acts. 

A book without punctuation, paragraphs, or 
even chapters would be an appalling tome de- 
spite the most alluring contents. A stage play 
of an hour or more, presented in continuous 
sequence without regard to acts, or crises, 
curtains or scenes, would fail to gratify. 

11 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Yet the primitive days of all Arts saw them 
making their first appeal in massive inarticu- 
lateness that at length became divided into 
harmonious Parts, just as the sculptor begins 
with a crude piece of stone and ends with a 
perfect human counterpart so cunningly sub- 
divided as to make a convincing whole. 

The Feature Photoplay is subject to the 
same law of limited consecutive attention and 
prolonged interest. Its mile of film, com- 
posed of 14,000 "frames" and divided into 
200 to 600 Scenes, corresponds to a book, for 
example, of 14,000 words (or frames), and 
punctuated with 200 to 600 Scenes. Call the 
Captions paragraphs and the Inserts extra 
punctuations, if you will. We still have, how- 
ever, the equivalent of the Novel without 
chapter divisions. 

Sentences, paragraphs, and punctuation are 
after all concerned more with the intrinsic 
unities of the matter of which a composition 
is made up, than with the esthetic harmony 
of the emotions on which the appeal depends. 
Any technical device that deepens the emo- 
tional appeal and adds to the esthetic value 
of an Art-work, automatically becomes an 
essential to its Art-life. 

With its 5,000 feet of film, its multitudi- 
nous Scenes, its connecting Captions, and its 

12 



PART-DIVISIONS, AND WHY 

dividing Inserts, the Feature Photoplay still 
lacks the most potential device at its com- 
mand for obtaining dramatic effects; namely, 
a further division into larger units, or Parts, 
that is in many ways like that employed in 
the construction of Acts in the Stage Play. 
It is the division into Acts that makes the 
Stage Play the delightful vehicle it has be- 
come, just as it is the division of the book 
into Chapters that so greatly adds to the 
pleasure of reading it. The same technique 
applied to the construction of the Feature 
Photoplay, wherein the Part is made an effec- 
tive device, will be a long step toward the up- 
building of a perfect Photodrama. 

On first thought, the conscious dividing of 
the Feature Photoplay into concrete Parts, 
may strike one as inviting an unnecessary 
artificiality. Second thought will disclose 
that Art in general, and the Art of the Photo- 
drama in particular, is an artificial design 
from beginning to end, simulating Life 
through the stimulation of Vision. Every 
process, small or large, is an artificial device 
seeking out the approval and the co-operation 
of the mind and the emotions of man-alive. 
The progressive writer is ever seeking new 
means to his end of heightening effects that 
will induce greater reality. 

13 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Accepting our medium — the Photodrama — 
as an Art, any device employed in its expres- 
sion should meet two tests. The first is the 
esthetic, or the test of Beauty; the second is 
Power, or the test of appeal. One concerns 
the effect on the mind, the other the effect on 
the emotions. 

Let us take the first. It is commonly called 
"form," or good form. No work, or achieve- 
ment, is perfect that is not in good form. 
Good form implies symmetry. Symmetry 
means balance. But it does not mean mathe- 
matical balance, with precisely two and two 
on either side of each equation. While the 
whole of Art is equal to the sum of all its 
parts, just as Mathematics is, it arrives at its 
equations in a less hackneyed, though none 
the less absolute, manner. Art's progress in 
symmetry is measured by cycles, recurrence, 
and periodicity. 

(EXAMPLE 5.) Scan a piece of Poetry with 
due regard to its poetic form; transpose it com- 
pletely into Prose, carrying the thought without the 
form, and note the maimed effect. Get a picture 
of Rheims cathedral before the bombardment and 
compare it with a photograph of the same after the 
desecration; the structure may still be usable, but 
in its form having been impaired, its symmetry and 
recurrence of pinnacle and spire and arches (which 
correspond to comma, period, and paragraph) hav 

14 



PART-DIVISIONS, AND WHY 

ing been destroyed, its beauty becomes one of mem- 
ory rather than of fact. Let an indifferent narra- 
tor retail a stage play he has witnessed and note 
the flatness of the story because of the omission of 
the periodic crises which have so deftly re-occurred 
while they sustained the rational balance of the 
piece. 

We come to the second test — that of Power 
and appeal. Herein our devices become more 
subtle, taking on an internal character that is 
felt rather than seen. We seek to reveal the 
soul of the composition rather than the body. 
We appeal to the emotions, rather than to the 
senses. 

(EXAMPLE 6.) We encounter the same differ- 
ences as we discern in the rhyme which may be seen 
and heard, and the rhythm which must be felt. In 
Drama the nice interweaving of lines delights the 
senses, but it is the subtle interaction of crises that 
moves the soul, which is the greater of the two. 

Matter or material up until the time it has 
received the last moulding touch of the artist 
remains in some degree an ineloquent mass or 
body. Give it that necessary artistic finish 
and the body becomes organic, the mass elo- 
quent. This final quality we shall call 
Rhythm, 

Rhythm is that resonant quality in a work 
of Art that begins with a still small voice in 

15 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the soul of the participator and grows and 
grows — in waves of melody — until at the end 
its volume becomes so great that our soul re- 
sounds with the climacteric crash of sym- 
phonic thunder. Or so it should be, in the 
case of Fiction, Drama, and Photodrama, with 
ever-recurring crises, periodic climacteric 
"curtains," all tending toward a mighty cli- 
max! 

(EXAMPLE 7.) Listen to the Orator in his fine 
periods ever waxing more eloquent. Read the 
Novel and feel the anxious pleasure of each rever- 
berating chapter-end. Witness the Stage Drama 
and rejoice in the agony of suspense that follows 
each curtain, except the last. What would the Ora- 
tion, the Novel or the Drama be without them? 

In how far the Chapter division in the case 
of the Novel, and the Act division in that of 
Stage Play, are essential, we are fully capable 
of judging in terms of effect. Take away the 
Act division and we may as well rob the arch 
of its keystone. 

Let us consider the Photodrama. Short 
Photoplays, like short stories or other short 
pieces of Art conception, were capable of 
being perfectly expressed by the mere sub- 
division into incidents, crises, and scenes, be- 
cause the piece was completed before the 
average mind would lose its focus through 

16 



PART-DIVISIONS, AND WHY 

the collapse of its powers of concentrated 
attentiveness. 

But the Feature Photoplay is another story. 
It is, or should be, quite the equal in depth, 
weight, substance, breadth, and length of the 
average Novel or Stage Play. In point of 
actual duration of its expression, it takes 
from one to two hours of intense, rapid un- 
folding. Any technical expedient that has 
been employed effectively in one of the sister 
Arts that are so closely allied to it in many 
particulars, should receive serious considera- 
tion. 

It is true that the one-mile — or more — mass 
of film is divided into multitudinous Scenes. 
These paragraphs are punctuated by many 
Situations and Crises. They are garnished 
frequently with many photographic scenes of 
great beauty. They are further sub-divided 
and spiced by numerous Captions. 

The moving picture — which is many eons 
removed from Photodrama — had its incep- 
tion in the invention of a mechanical device 
that reproduced photographs progressively in 
imitation of motion. At an early stage the 
negative film of these progressive photographs 
was wound on spools, or reels, containing one 
thousand feet of film. The reel became the 
natural unit of quantity and measure of mo- 

17 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

tion picture film. But the reel became more 
than the mere physical and commercial unit. 
In the early days it developed a certain Dra- 
matic value. This came about because of the 
necessity to stop the exhibition abruptly at 
the end of each reel when it had run out. 
Several minutes intervened while an addi- 
tional reel was being substituted. In a crude 
way stories came to be built by reels to avoid 
destruction of Story and Suspense Values 
through having the projection broken before 
a Situation had been sufficiently developed. 

Thus a Technical division of rare Dra- 
matic value was early, and literally, stumbled 
upon. But as the mechanical improvements 
progressed and it became possible to project 
multiple reel subjects without pausing to 
change the reels, the construction by reels 
or any other unit larger than the scene, or the 
scene-group, was no longer deemed necessary. 

Why not continue the construction of 
Photoplays by reels? Not that we are seek- 
ing to facilitate the mechanics of projection, 
but that we mean to enhance the Mechanics 
of Drama. Nor do we mean that each of 
these units, come what may, shall be stretched 
or dwarfed to precisely one thousand feet. 
All we are seeking is a unit equivalent to the 
Act in the Stage Drama; and if such a unit 

18 



PART-DIVISIONS, AND WHY 

or Act could approximate in duration the 
length of a piece of film contained on a reel, 
all the better. If occasionally our unit 
reached its curtain in as little as seven hun- 
dred feet, or as much as twelve hundred feet, 
still well and good, for a reel will hold either 
length. And if, rarely, cases rise wherein the 
physical reel would have to be discarded in 
attempting to take care of our unit or Act, 
then better still, for what we are trying to 
formulate is not a law of Procrustes, but an 
essential principle of Photodrama. And 
when mere mechanics or minor commercial 
considerations begin to hamper the healthy 
operation of a man's, or Art's, principles 
they are bound to invite a flaw into his or its 
character. 

While Photodrama is decidedly not Stage 
Drama, yet it is more closely allied to it than 
it is to Fiction. The presentation of a Photo- 
play, through the medium of actors, on a 
screen-stage, before an audience, and in a 
theater, is almost identical with that of a Stage 
Play. Both are Drama, hence both are de- 
pendent on the same larger laws for their 
larger effects. 

(EXAMPLE 8.) At one time or another we have 
seen the Photodrama borrowing all the tricks of 
stagecraft. On the other hand, we have seen the 

19 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

stage appropriating many clever devices which had 
their origin on the screen. Take, for example, the 
Photoplay device of "visioning" scenes one of the 
characters is telling about, in "On Trial." Or the 
same thing in "Forever After," zuherein the delirious 
soldier revisions his dramatic youth. 

The tour de force of both Stage Drama 
construction and expression is the Act. 
Hence the Act is not merely a convention to 
enable the audience to get its breath, or to 
regain its power of attentiveness, or a period 
for the change of scenery. Frequently no 
change in scenery is necessary. The Act is 
the device that does the Dramatic trick. 

If the Act is the Technical strategy that 
so largely enhances the effect of the Stage 
Play, and the Photoplay is subject to the 
same law of effect, then why should we not 
by all means employ the same device? The 
Act unit should lose none of its potentiality 
in the Photoplay. Because of its multiplicity 
and fragmentation, the Photoplay would be 
benefited by more frequent Acts. But the Act 
principle will always be the same. There 
must be the Beginning, the Middle, and the 
End; the Introduction, the Crisis, and the 
Denouement. These three requisites are met 
in the three Acts of the Stage Play. In the 
cases of the four-act or five-act plays, the 

20 



PART-DIVISIONS, AND WHY 

Crisis is re-duplicated at the end of Acts II 
and III. In the case of the Photoplay, our 
first reel, or Part, or Act, concerns itself 
with Introduction, the last Part concerns it- 
self with Denouement, the Part before the last 
ends with the Grand Crisis, and the inter- 
mediate Parts — though they be six in number 
— concern themselves with essential phases 
in the development of the play, each ending 
with a cumulative Crisis. 

It is more correct to say that the Act unites, 
rather than divides. It unites the Crises of 
the play with the bonds of Suspense, which 
are tighter and stronger than all other devices 
combined. The Act is that subtle Rhythm 
that winds and winds the Suspense while 
holding the attention, in great sweeping cy- 
cles, until the catastrophe thunders into our 
presence and the mighty hour of our play has 
come and gone. 

(EXAMPLE g.) An analogy to the cumulative 
power of Rhythm might be cited from the physical 
realm in the case of any large body of soldiers cross- 
ing a bridge. They are called upon to break step. 
If they remained in step, any but the strongest struc- 
ture would succumb to the cumulative volume of the 
Rhythm that would shake its foundations. 

The Act then — or Part, as we shall term it 
in relation to the Photodrama — is a Law of 

21 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

effective Dramatic Construction, not a rule. 
We may set up a rule advising what length 
a Part in Photodrama might be, but there are 
worthy exceptions to all rules. But the Law 
cannot be evaded or violated without the suf- 
fering of the person or the property whom 
it governs. 

In another chapter we shall demonstrate 
with what added facility the Author may con- 
struct the Feature Photoplay when one builds 
in Parts. It will be shown how the Photo- 
play is relieved of possible tedium and multi- 
plied in Power. It will be illustrated how the 
Appeal to the audience will be strengthened 
and the Dramatic effect heightened. 

We should now be prepared to meet a se- 
rious obstacle in our progress. That is the 
commercial and mechanical powers-that-be 
who seem actually eager to waste a thousand 
dollars a day in experimenting on tawdry 
effects, but who will hesitate a year before 
they will invest a cent in a single logical cause. 
Millions for de luxe trappings, but not one 
cent for elucidating inquiry ! 



22 



// the Motion Picture Industry has 
prospered so largely by a scientific 
study of Distribution and a Busi- 
nesslike Organisation of the Trade, 
in a like manner it would seem that 
the Art of the Photo drama might be 
benefited if those who exploit it 
would honestly seek to learn its true 
Nature and unite in a Universal 
Studio Interpretation and a Stand- 
ard Form of Preparing Plays. 

CHAPTER III 

The Utility of a Standard Form 

getting together,* coordination j wasted 
time; chaos; demand for intelligence 
as well as mechanics; interpreters 
all; original stories the demand; the 

ESSENTIAL TO PROGRESS. 

IF Tom, Dick and Harry, and a countless 
multitude of relative writers, each writes a 
play in his own language, to suit himself, and 
which he himself alone can interpret, it is 
evident that these plays will not be compre- 
hended by others. If each studio has its own 

23 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

jargon that has come up from the soil of me- 
chanics and if scores of those who read 
and handle the scripts are mechanics them- 
selves, it is possible that some of them may 
not comprehend the flights of artistic souls 
whose language of the Play they do not speak. 
If the scripts pass on for interpretation and 
approval from reader to editor, from editor 
to director — sometimes to a half dozen others, 
including the star — is it any wonder that oc- 
casional misapprehensions should creep in? 
And when the script is bought, and the author 
is quite forgotten, and the golden vision of 
his soul is edited by the editor, given a new 
meaning by the continuity writer and then 
puzzled over by the director — who finally ig- 
nores all revisions and goes ahead according 
to his lights, driving his agile cast blindly 
through the fragments, aiming at, and maybe 
achieving some lurid effects — is it at all ex- 
traordinary that the author of the idea should 
witness the result on the screen and curse 
the Photodrama? 

(EXAMPLE 10.) We wonder if Charles Hanson 
Towne was one of these disgruntled authors when 
he was inspired to write a poem in which he called 
the motion picture theater a "dim cavern" where 
"sailors would hug their girls." Surely poets should 
be inspired to say greater things of it than that! 

24 



UTILITY OF STANDARD FORM 

What are the reasons for such a series of 
"misunderstandings"? They are seldom delib- 
erate ; ignorance never is that, it is more often 
a case of negligence. Ignorance usually follows 
in the wake of too much prosperity, or too little. 
When some people get too much money they 
get the idea also that money can take the place 
of brains and they scoff at education. On the 
other hand, when some people have too little 
money they cannot afford education. Both 
of these groups are lacking in common sense. 
Education need cost but little, and we must 
have it if we want either to make money or 
to keep it! 

The motion picture industry is fabulously 
wealthy. Its investment annually in studios, 
stars and stories exceeds the wealth of the 
Indies. And yet it worries itself sick! About 
what, do you think? Studios and stars? 
Slightly, yes — but money can buy them. Its 
real nightmare is stories. But money can buy 
them? Yes, and no. It can buy books and 
plays which are scrapped for their stories, 
like best-selling ships of their day are 
scrapped for the precious iron and steel 
they contain. Only the motion picture mag- 
nate pays ten times the original price of the 
piece, instead of ten times less. 

Then the supply may run out! So few 
25 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

books and plays are suited to motion picture 
production — or re-production. They seldom 
are recognizable when they appear on the 
screen. The craze is for this stuff, but what 
the business really wants is original stories! 

They say this half-heartedly and they mean 
it half-heartedly. They are afraid — and they 
have just reason, because of bitter experience 
— of original stories, and their original 
writers. So they fairly flew into the arms of 
experienced writers of more or less seasoned 
published stories and produced plays. 

But what has happened to the native Photo- 
drama? What will happen to the struggling, 
rising school of young Photoplaywrights who 
were feeling their way in this new field over 
which hung such a brilliant rainbow of de- 
ceptive promise ? 

They found a pot of gold — but not at the 
foot of their own rainbow. For the original 
writers have melted away into that new 
school — that of continuity writers, adapters, 
copyists, though seldom interpreters — of the 
published and produced works of writers in 
another field to whom they must now play 
second and third fiddle. Meanwhile those 
other fields are being degenerated and prosti- 
tuted largely by avaricious writers seeking to 
make their work so like the "movies" that 

26 



UTILITY OF STANDARD FORM 

they will command big prices on the screen 
before they are dry on the press. 

(EXAMPLE II.) It is not to be construed, as we 
shall show conclusively later, that we do not believe 
that the Message and Vision contained in a Book 
or Stage Play cannot be faithfully translated into a 
Photoplay. We believe it emphatically. Further- 
more, we believe it can be interpreted in Music, 
Painting, and the other great Arts. But now we 
speak of Art and Artists! 

Excepting in rare cases, fear seems to have 
dominated the course and progress of original 
Photodrama. There has been a fear of origi- 
nality, a fear of enlightenment, a fear of Tech- 
nique, a fear of Form. Well or ill founded, 
the result in the progress of the Art has been 
stultifying, although the growth of the indus- 
try has been "beyond the dreams of avarice." 
The promoters and exploiters of the motion 
picture will wave to the millions who throng 
their theaters and tell you that no greater trib- 
ute to their work is necessary, that the public 
is satisfied ! Is the public satisfied with motion 
pictures? Not one devotee in fifty is. Occa- 
sionally, they will tell you, they see something 
wonderful ! 

(EXAMPLE 12.) We motion picture people and 
our work have become a serious matter so occasion- 

27 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ally that we are dubbed "The Movies" to dis- 
criminate us from the fine art of Stage Drama, just 
as we differentiate between the Italian and "The 
Wop." If this seems unmerited for a moment, we 
have but to examine the trade journals and study the 
childish advertisements, so exaggerated that they 
appeal amusedly to the circus instinct only; read 
the Movie Magazines, so largely cluttered with the 
veriest puerile nonsense about "picture people" ; look 
at the posters outside most theaters naively seeking 
intelligent audiences by means of lurid prints that 
put "The Penny Dreadful" in the shade; scan the 
criticism and comment in general of photoplays and 
photoplayers, and you will find yourself wading in 
slush and pulchritude. If these are largely our own 
reflections of ourselves, we must expect the smirk 
of opinion. Have we no dignity? Yes, occasionally, 
just as we have among us some great geniuses and 
reflect our future grandeur in great Photoplays — 
occasionally! 

Is it not about time that motion picture 
people and photodramatists "got together"? 
There are certain qualities in pictures that 
make good money, just as there must be cer- 
tain qualities in plays that make good plays. 
And it is most certain that these two qualities 
may be employed in the same product at the 
same time. Thus the best plays may be con- 
ceived and built to bring the best returns. 

(EXAMPLE 13.) We have but to turn to several 
which, if they were not perfect, were fine and con- 
tained elements of genius. They succeeded finan- 

28 



UTILITY OF STANDARD FORM 

dally beyond their punier fellows! "Broken Blos- 
soms," "The Gay Old Dog" "Blind Husbands" "The 
Miracle Man." 

Writers as a class have been ignored, ex- 
cept for what they could or could not do. 
And writers as a class have condemned pro- 
ducers for a lack of consideration, sympathy, 
and co-operation. The question is in many 
ways not unlike that of capital and labor. 
The writer is in a very real sense the laborer. 
The industry and the public must suffer until 
they both get together on a common plane of 
understanding! There is need for far more 
cooperation. 

It is but fair at this point to state emphat- 
ically, that writers have been anything but 
sincere and far-seeking as a class to probe 
the depths of photodrama and to study the 
exigencies of the motion picture. The well- 
meaning triflers with photoplay material with- 
in the studios came much nearer to solving 
the immediate problem, at least, though they 
were seldom story tellers, than did the arro- 
gant writers of fiction and drama who 
haughtily invaded the new field without ever 
seeking out the true nature of its needs. 
They and the horde of outside contributors, 
all seeking some of the notorious wealth it 
was said to be carelessly spilling about, in 

29 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

their ignorance did little to raise the Photo- 
drama. 

Coordination, then, is the great need of the 
Photodrama today. 

Coordination means simply that the head 
shall order what the hand shall do. If the 
hand does not do what the head orders, we 
speak of that organization or organism as be- 
ing deranged. Its administration becomes 
inane, its action chaos. 

Effectual coordination implies that the 
mind understands perfectly what it essays; 
and the worker must be in sympathy with the 
project in every way in order to give it per- 
fect expression. 

In essaying the creation and production of 
Photodrama, the first question that rises is, 
Do we know what Photodrama is? Again, 
Do we know how to give it perfect expres- 
sion? Are we acquainted with its needs — 
artistic, productive, and exhibitive? Does 
the producer know the creator of the story, 
and his potentialities ? Does the author know 
the producer and his problems? Do they 
understand and sympathise with each other? 
If these conditions are not met fairly, then 
there is not perfect coordination and there 
cannot be perfect Photodrama without perfect 
coordination. 

30 



UTILITY OF STANDARD FORM 

The operation of the mind does not cease for 
a second until the hand has traced the story 
on the screen and it is reflected in the heart 
of the audience! 



(EXAMPLE 14.) We offer the suggestion thai 
a School of Photoplay Writing be founded. Not 
an ephemeral, crude, rough and ready "practical" 
affair. Nor an academic hall presided over by 
learned professors exuding embalmed theory and 
leading young highbrows astray. Nor yet an insti- 
tution founded on private capital, baiting the public 
with promises of fame and fortune. No, there are 
other ways that alone mean progress in every phase 
of motion pictures and Photodrama. They have 
but to follow out the best traditions in implanting 
the rudiments, theory, technique, and practice of 
other dignified professions and vocations from 
Theology to Architecture. They have no more and 
no less theory, they are equally utilitarian. None 
can boast of a higher service to mankind! A central 
School might be established near Los Angeles or 
New York where students could work in practical 
conjunction with the studios. Teachers would be 
chosen both for their pedagogical power of impart- 
ing to others and their practical knowledge in point- 
ing their ideas. Men with ideas in every phase of 
the huge work would deliver lectures made practical 
by illustrative motion pictures. Maybe the work 
might be broadened in a Motion Picture College, 
where all branches would be taken up and merged 
co-operatively — Photoplay) Writing , Photography, 
Directing, Acting, Stage Setting, Projecting. 

31 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Once there is perfect coordination in the 
conception, production and exhibition of mo- 
tion picture Drama, once we all find out what 
it is about, and all find that it is about the 
same thing and learn to speak the same 
studio language in the same technical form of 
ideas — which does not mean that we shall 
ever express ourselves in the same individual 
Photodramas, for, thank God, that is where 
genius will ever outmeasure mediocrity! 
— then watch this new wonder, the Photo- 
drama, grow! 



32 



This building a Play around our 
Heroine's curls is like building an 
insane asylum around a child's tan- 
trums. In both cases the enfant ter- 
rible should get what she deserves 
and we should have better sense. 

CHAPTER IV 

Photodrama Versus Pictures 

"pictures" not a synonym ; only a back- 
ground; SIGNIFICANCE OF "SCENE" ; THE 

"pretty play" ; the star system. 

WITHOUT doubt the term "picture" al- 
ways will have some synonymic associ- 
ation with the Photodrama. What could be 
more natural, when the original, and possibly 
enduring, generic name for the industry, 
process, and production as a whole is "mo- 
tion pictures"? 

There are many internal contributory 
causes that have led to an over-emphasis on 
the picture side of the Photoplay. 

(EXAMPLE 15.) The assistant-director, or loca- 
tion-man, will pick out "locations" for outdoor 
scenes for their pictorial effectiveness. This is 
altogether commendable if the scenes thus chosen 
are in harmony with the dramatic scene. But there 
are directors who will work a scene of great natural 
beauty "to death," for its pictorial values alone. 

33 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

All said and done, pictures as pictures have 
nothing to do with plays as plays unless they 
are a spiritual background for given plays. 

(EXAMPLE 16.) One well-known production 
company for many years noted for its exceptionally 
backward and bad photoplays, retained the services 
of an artist of the first rank to set his seal on the 
settings. The pictures were good, but the plays were 
atrocious. These producers were willing to spend 
thousands of dollars to have the draperies and 
flowerpots just right, but it is not known that they 
ever invested a cent to learn why their Drama was 
botched. It is doubtful if they ever knew. The 
public did, however. But it considered itself damned 
as usual and only sighed. 

It is the function of the Painter of Pictures 
to express his Art in the picture alone. It is 
not the function of the creators of Drama to 
present physical pictures merely. What the 
spectator of Drama sees with the eye is 
merely incidental. So-called dramatic pictorial 
pageantry is, or should be known, as Spec- 
tacle. An excellent word to describe the in- 
cidental picture or background, is that used 
in stage drama — Setting. The pictured back- 
ground — whether indoors or out — tells us 
merely where the action is going on. And 
it should tell us that fact emphatically, with- 
out our having to ask any questions. The 
important questions remain — Why it is going 

34 



PHOTODRAMA VS. PICTURES 

on, and How it is going to end? Not pic- 
tures, but the Play's the thing. Pictures are 
a conventional necessity, just like other props. 
But they should never be employed for pic- 
torial effects alone, and they should always 
be consistent in spirit with the theme. 

(EXAMPLE 17.) One early theorist who essayed 
teaching photoplay technique fostered the "picture" 
tendencies by insisting that all backgrounds should be 
beautiful! Imagine the spiritual dissonance of hav- 
ing crime, poverty, pestilence, suffering and all the 
other motors of pathos, pity and disgust, set in <i bed 
of roses! Without contrast, the essence of Drama — 
which is the essence of Life — becomes tasteless. 

Again, the word "scene" has been respon- 
sible, in a measure, for the pictorial myth. 
Ordinarily, a scene is something that may be 
looked at, appreciated, and enjoyed. "Scene" 
frequently indicates a sight that is either 
beautiful or exciting. In Drama, however, a 
scene is a makeshift made necessary because 
we could not possibly have had the action 
take place in the same location as the one pre- 
ceding it. The continuity of the Photodrama 
demands a constant shift of scene in order 
to progress. In neither case is the scene es- 
sential because of the pictured background, 
but because it is a technical device to advance 
the movement of the drama. 

35 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 18.) Granted, that a photoplay had 
simple plot and powerful enough premise, if the 
drama were there and we knew Why it was, the 
scenes could be shown against a black drop with full 
effectiveness. Who cares Where a thing is going 
on, if it IS going on? If it is conflict, it is 
bound to be interesting. All of which is no argu- 
ment to eliminate pictures, but to subordinate them. 

We do not present pictures for pictures' 
sake in Drama, then, but we present Drama 
for the sake of an audience visioning even 
greater pictures that their imagination or 
pictorial sense is capable of stirring in their 
souls because of our dramatic symbols. Pic- 
tures enhance our symbols, but our story is 
not created because of the setting. 

(EXAMPLE ig.) Take the stage play, "The Yel- 
low Jacket." There were three acts, but with no 
change of scene; as a matter of fact there were 
no scenes at all. The many locations were 
effected through the cleverness of the lines, supple- 
mented by that of the actors, who pretended all 
manner of adventures in all manner of places and 
shifted a few properties before the eyes of the 
audience — who visioned a thousand-and-one scenes. 

In the very early days, in the case of one 
conspicuous company, motion picture "plays" 
were written around a menagerie retained by 
the company at great expense. If it was not 
constantly employed, it was in imminent dan- 

36 



PHOTODRAMA VS. PICTURES 

ger of "eating its head off." A Macedonian 
cry went forth to the writers of that day for 
"animal stories. ,, The screened result bore 
excellent comparison with the illustrated ani- 
mal stories in the gaudy Christmas juvenile 
books. Grown-up children were both thrilled 
and amused delectably. Very playful "plays," 
without a doubt; but they were not Drama. 
Because the producers of that generation half 
believed they were Drama, they and their for- 
tunes have melted away. 

(EXAMPLE 20.) We recall one entitled, we 
think, "When the Circus Broke Loose," wherein all 
the wild animals in a circus, because of a wreck or 
storm, prowled or rushed into the homes and the 
lives of a quiet village with tragical and farcical re- 
sults. The child in us fairly howled with delight. 

The perhaps hardier and possibly more 
skeptical race of producers that displaced the 
menagerie managers brought with them their 
own household gods, or goddesses, which im- 
mediately they proceeded to set up. Instead 
of wild animals, the screen was plastered with 
very tame ingenues. 

(EXAMPLE 21.) The vogue of Mary Pickford 
and her myriad imitators will be recalled. Mary 
Pickford is delightful in everything she does on the 
screen. She is an artiste. As an ingenue or juvenile 
she will remain paramount simply because she is 

37 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

inimitable. Mary was successfully imitated only in 
the matter of her flaxen curls; in all other particu- 
lars the others were as candles before the sun! But 
that does not excuse Mary Pickford, with her rare 
gift of dramatic power, for her prolonged career 
amidst the vapid antics, the sticky saccharinity, the 
curls and the tantrums. Thus Mary made of herself 
more of a "spoiled child of the movies" than her 
imitators, because at their ivorst they were at least 
doing their best 

We have tried to show that the "pretty 
play" is seldom more or less than pictures. 
We do not deny that pictures as such have 
their place and are fulfilling a demand, possi- 
bly a need. With no brains in the audience, 
Drama is superfluous. We shall always have 
with us the "tired business man/' the giggling 
girl, bewhiskered children and sentimental 
babies, who for obvious reasons will never 
know the infinite delights afTorded by Art. 
They will fume at a servant or sob over a 
Pomeranian, but they never allow themselves 
to become sympathetic and excited over a 
noble epic uplifting their lives from the stage 
or screen! Thus we may surmise that the 
sugar-coated-pill industry will never languish. 
And so-called plays will be interspersed with 
crying and laughing babies, trained monkeys, 
dogs and cats and other pretty trappings to 
elicit the proper flow of gush. 

38 



PHOTODRAMA VS. PICTURES 

(EXAMPLE 22.) One producing company in 
particular made it one of its principles of produc- 
tion to introduce a baby or a pet animal in every 
picture, hanging on to its antics until its cuteness 
became a positive bore. And, to quote a current 
paragraph mentioning a current play, "Another fea- 
ture, of this week's entertainment :s 'Four Times 
Foiled,' in which a baby, a trained monkey, a horse, 
a dog and a pig play prominent parts." We recall 
our own play, "A Dream or Two Ago," from which 
the effective climax of one Part was omitted to give 
way to several hundred feet of organ grinder and 
his monkey — he was such a cute monkey! — which 
the director found irresistible. 



Thus stories have been written and pro- 
duced all around the mulberry bush, as it 
were. We refer to nothing less than by far 
the larger part of the so-called "best" produc- 
tion of the day, too. Seldom did a virile dra- 
matic idea present itself, and rarely did it 
find expression in a forceful drama. No one 
can honestly brand motion picture producers, 
in every phase of the work, with indolence — 
their industry is a miracle of what unflagging 
brawn and ingenuity can accomplish. In the 
matters of economics, logical thought and ar- 
tistic inquiry they have been sadly lacking. 
They have been largely financial opportunists, 
rather than reasoning builders. They have 

39 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

seemed to give credit to Today only and to 
have reserved little trust for Tomorrow. 

We now arrive at the final picture-versus- 
drama menace of Today, which seems likely 
to endure until Tomorrow and forever after. 
We refer to the Star System. 

The star system has its merits in ratio to 
the merits of the star it endeavors to exploit. 

(EXAMPLE 23.) An Edwin Booth of the photo- 
drama may rightly command the best talents of the 
best dramatists in order that we may tempt forth 
every nuance of the supreme dramatic potentiality 
of a great Artist. Even lesser artists whose genius 
can be reflected and expressed roundly and efful- 
gently, after the manner of the stars, should com- 
mand our serious consideration and custom-made 
product, if we are convinced that it be art for art's 
sake. 

Again our shaft is aimed at the mere pic- 
ture, rather than at that phase of legitimate 
Photodrama or Drama, that endeavors to de- 
lineate a single extraordinary character that 
stands apart — benign or diabolical — whose 
example is to be imitated or eschewed and 
whose screen or stage revealment adds an 
important volume to the archives of human 
Life. 

In another chapter, and practically rather 
than theoretically, we shall discuss the star in 

40 



PHOTODRAMA VS. PICTURES 

relation to construction and motivation of the 
Photoplay. These chapters on Theory are 
pointed with Criticism in the hope of elimina- 
ting untoward developments from further 
consideration by the time we are prepared to 
undertake technical progression. 

We return to a former premise, by empha- 
sizing that a picture "setting," hashed or re- 
hashed to meet the specifications of mere 
beauty per se, shallowness, curls, and inability 
of an idle high-salaried star, seldom results 
in a Photoplay. Drama has nothing to do 
with mere personal appearance. Physical 
movements, whether agile or eccentric, are of 
mediocre value; all the advertisement of a 
star in the world can no more than stir sur- 
ficial curiosity. Drama is a very personal 
conflict in the process of evolution, culmina- 
tion and consummation. Drama, and Photo- 
drama in particular, needs artists of a high 
order to reveal the fine depths of a human 
soul working out its destiny in the thousand- 
and-one well-modulated expressions of man- 
ner, gesture, poise, repression, emotion, and 
magnetism. 

(EXAMPLE 24.) Again and again, we hear the 
echo of audiences asking, "Oh, where do they get 
some of these people we pay to see and suffer for, 

41 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

and, again, where do they get their names?" We 
have seen a director struggling a whole day with a 
pitifully incompetent little girl, picked up heaven 
knozvs where for her "picture" possibilities, trying 
to inculcate a simple Dramatic application into her 
poor tired brain. He finally got emotional response 
by swearing at her and making her cry in self pity. 
The result was called a "superb photoplay"! The 
bewildered little "star" was dizzy because of the 
great heights she was soaring above her former 
humble condition. Too, she was receiving exactly 
the salary of the President of the United States! 
We are not blaming these tinsel stars, but zoe hope 
the law of the Arts will some day fittingly punish 
those responsible for the sacrilege! 

In conclusion, let us reiterate that a "pic- 
ture" is one thing, and the Photodrama is 
quite another. We do not gainsay that the 
"picture" has a distinct value or, possibly, an 
art all of its own, just as the Vaudeville has, 
though it is in its turn but a distant cousin 
to the Drama. But the limitations of the 
"picture" must not be confused with the in- 
finitude of the Drama or Photodrama. 

"Pictures" may be pleasing, gratifying a 
passing whim. The Photodrama must be in- 
fluencing, satisfying an enduring desire. 

The Photodrama is a Fine Art. It does — 
and forever will — require in its progressive 
steps, the best efforts of the best students and 
the finest talents of the finest artists. 

42 



Photo drama offers as wide a scope 
and as luxuriant variety in its ex- 
pression as is to be found in any 
other Fine Art. 

CHAPTER V 

Types of Photoplays 

among those present; the pageant and 
spectacle; the fate of the short play; 
series and serials and literary compar- 
isons ; which are photodrama or fea- 
TURE PHOTOPLAY? 

WHAT is, and what is not a Photoplay? 
That is still the question! Thousands 
of people ask themselves that question daily 
and nightly, as they sit patiently and witness 
several miles of mimic medley unreeled before 
their eyes upon the screen. 

The world and his wife and some of their 
children are attending a motion picture show 
somewhere every hour of the day and night. 
Take tonight in Our Town. Several twitch- 
ing and yet bewitching, electrically-lighted 
signs on Main Street lure us to the "Movies." 
There is something childishly and luridly at- 
mospheric in those garish lights a*td gaudy 

43 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

posters that cause our High Brows to lower 
and join forces with the Low Brows, slightly 
elevated for the occasion. 

Let us check our Gray Matter in the cloak 
room and thus disarmed enter the enchanted 
realm of the "Movies." We grope to our 
seats and sit down about midway in the sec- 
ond convulsion of a custard-pie Comedy. The 
gallery gives a hoot in which our younger 
children join. Some very vulgar situations 
arise which are executed with lingering gusto 
and bad taste by what would be considered 
in real life as possibly ludicrous but never- 
theless disgusting people. There is much 
promiscuous and playful kissing of unmated 
husbands and wives, and at length the chief 
disturber is thrown overboard and disap- 
pears, apparently drowned, amidst the uncon- 
trolled glee of the gallery and an accelerated 
burst of jazz from the orchestra. 

If all these slapstick farces are not so vul- 
gar as the one alluded to, they are equally 
idiotic. Our protest might die on our lips if, 
when the exquisite lighting effects began to 
reveal our surroundings, we found ourselves 
in a squalid hall filled with ignorant and vul- 
gar people. Instead, we find ourselves in a 
palatial playhouse filled in the main with 
prosperous and intelligent people. So they 

44 



TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS 

too have been treated to this unsavory pap! 
Evidently they have grown used to it, like 
other things in life that become common, for 
there is not a single frown of protest in sight. 

It is worse than that. It indicates their 
opinion of the "Movies." It means that the 
larger part of the public looks tolerantly upon 
the "Movies" as a hybrid that may be vulgar, 
commit crimes, become asinine, and occasion- 
ally be normal. "Why worry about the 
'Movies' ?" We have heard the sentiment more 
than once; "they are not human, you know." 
So they indulge every whim of the "Movies" 
just as they do all other irresponsible, sub- 
human beings. 

If audiences can be said to reason at all, 
they reason from the general to the particu- 
lar. They bulk their whole "Movie" experi- 
ence and say, "Well, the general run of them 
is pretty poor, so about every one you go to 
see is bound to be pretty poor." They lump 
the whole of screen production and dub it 
"Movies." 

Is the producer of fustian films and frowsy 
farce altogether to blame for bringing disre- 
pute on the whole of motion picture expres- 
sion? Not altogether, if he has a ready mar- 
ket for it all. Or is the distributor at fault, 
for ladling out such stuff? The distributor 

45 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

will tell you that all he knows is, that the 
exhibitor sees or may see the "pictures" before 
he rents them for his theater. The exhibitor 
will tell you that he is giving the public what 
it wants! 

(EXAMPLE 25.) For instance, let us quote the 
contents of a current program of one of the finest 
photoplay houses in the world, catering to audi- 
ences whose taste and intelligence have every rea- 
son to be above question: "Selections from 'The 
Prince of Pilsen,' Screen Magazine, Solo from 
Liszt, Colored Pictures, Soprano Solo: 'Absinthe 
Frappe,' Feature Photoplay: 'The Six Best Cellars' 
Orchestra: 'Alcoholic Blues' Comedy: 'Her Bridal 
Nightmare,' Organ Solo: Concert Overture in C 
Minor." A comparison in reading matter would be 
something like this: A dip into "Graustark," a skip 
through the Sunday Supplement, a few pages of 
"The Tales of Hoffmann," a glance through "The 
Geographic Magazine," a peep into "Le Rire," an 
hour of "The Saturday Evening Post," a fezv mo- 
ments' reflection of a discordant jazzed cabaret, a 
besmirching by "The Police Gazette," and finally a 
few stanzas from "Paradise Lost" Sausage and 
tripe and caviar and pickles and squab all in to- 
gether! 

So we all pass the buck to the public that 
pays the bill. The psychology of the public 
is the psychology of the sheep. The public 
never thinks for itself constructively. There 
must be always a prophet or a demagog to 

46 



TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS 

segregate and organize its opinions and its 
prejudices. The public is successfully ap- 
pealed to from above or from below it; it 
must be educated or passionized; it may be 
refined or debased in large masses by merely 
focussing on its self-respect or its self-esteem. 
So, in the name of all reason., do not let us 
wait to be guided by any concrete and con- 
structive advice from the iconoclastic public. 

The stupid public has a glimmer of the 
chief fact that we people of the Motion Pic- 
ture and Photodrama have made it possible 
for them to glean ; namely, that all this hodge- 
podge they go to see and hear at the best and 
worst houses is "the Movies" ! The Screen 
Magazine, the ulcerated Comedy, the punc- 
tuated Pictographs, the cunning Cartoons, 
the Travelaughs, the gorgeous Spectacle, the 
pokey Pageant, the Series and the Serials, 
the good Comedy and the bad Melodrama and 
the perfect Feature Photoplay — they are all 
the Movies, individually and collectively, and 
vice versa, the Movies are nothing more nor 
less. Even the rejuvenated pipe organ and 
the resplendent orchestra are thought by a 
large portion of the public to be integral with 
the Movies, if not the best part of them. 

In other words, in the confusion of the 
Movies, the Photodrama has been lost sight 

47 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

of. We are not speaking of the public now, 
we are not condemning the polyglot entertain- 
ment that serves to entertain millions ; but we 
do deplore the losing of the diamond in the 
dust heap. The Photodrama, as reflected and 
expressed in the perfect Feature Photoplay, 
is the greatest concrete conception that Art 
has known for many centuries! 

That the Photodrama should be billeted 
with a lot of twaddle in an evening's enter- 
tainment, is no less odd than that a sublime 
piece of Literature should be tucked away in 
a bookcase otherwise filled with trashy love 
stories. The people who own the theaters 
and the people who own the bookcases stand 
convicted of either ignorance or negligence. 
The childish public will come along and de- 
vour the contents of both and think because 
they are so well-housed they bear the stamp 
of high authority. 

Are we motion picture people ignorant of 
what the Photodrama is or what it may be- 
come? Then we should educate ourselves 
and foster every attempt to make of Photo- 
drama a fine Art. Are we penurious with 
what we have earned and avaricious of what 
the public still has? Just so long then shall 
we see the Photodrama famished and its fu- 
ture poverty-stricken. 

48 



TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS 

We return to our original proposition of 
what is and what is not Photodrama. We 
respect many of the forms of screen expres- 
sion and we frown upon many others. If the 
variety fills a need, or serves a purpose, or 
illustrates the world and its events, or teaches 
us to see and think better, or amuses us clean- 
ly, or reveals wonderful phenomena, all well 
and good. May they multiply and never end ! 
But they are not Photodrama. They are one 
of the mere circumstances of living, while 
Photodrama is Life. 

Let us eliminate a few of the so-called 
types that make up that vast clutter known as 
the ''movies" ; after which, with decks 
cleared, we may proceed with the Photo- 
drama, unhampered and with mutual under- 
standing. 

In the early days the Pageant played a 
larger part in motion pictures than it does to- 
day. The purpose of the Pageant was to fac- 
simile an important event in local or national 
history. In order to make it easy for the 
ignorant to swallow, it was frequently sugar- 
coated with more or less story flavor. Now 
and then dramatic moments were approxi- 
mated. 

The dramatic value of the Pageant was 
notably advanced when it merged into the 

49 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

motion picture Spectacle, wherein greater 
stress was laid upon the story than upon the 
historical facts it attempted to portray. The 
chief characters were created by the author, 
and the story hinged upon their struggles 
rather than upon the movements of well- 
known figures of history. 

(EXAMPLE 26.) The above was true of the pro- 
totype of all American spectacles, "The Birth of a 
Nation." It became true also, at a later date, of 
"Hearts of the World," "Civilization," and others. 
History served as a background for the fictitious 
characters whose lives were dramatic symbols of 
the great events thus illustrated. 

For a time we were promised an epoch of 
epic drama. The chosen subjects themselves 
were fraught with all the makings of splendid 
art, but the producers and the directors were 
of the motion-picture movie, and so they 
came to adopt the tactics that emphasized the 
spectacular and neglected the truly dramatic. 

(EXAMPLE 27.) We all remember the over- 
emphasis laid on the thunderous appearances of the 
"three thousand horsemen of the Ku-Klux Klan" 
thrilling blatantly, with the collusion of the orchestra, 
out of the startled audience all of the fine tender 
sentiments that were being marshalled for an effec- 
tive climax. Good drama is spoiled by a startling 
exploitation of the sensations; it is enhanced by the 

50 



TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS 

gentlest appeal to the emotions. Even in that beau- 
tiful and unsurpassed dramatic spectacle, "Quo 
Vadis," fatal emphasis was laid on the destruction 
of Rome. In "Joan the Woman" the battle scenes 
and other externals calculated to take away our 
breath and impress us with "no expense has been 
spared," were given space until in the excitement we 
forgot all else. In Drama we should never be per- 
mitted for an instant to forget the raison d'etre. In 
"Cabiria" there was a difference, for we had a Spec- 
tacle pure and simple — and ever delightful. In 
"Judith of Bethulia" wondrous scenes and startling 
action were produced independent of the emotion and 
internal conflict that was the basis of it all. 

Thus, in our analysis of what has proved 
to be Photodrama — or more particularly the 
Feature Photoplay — and what has failed to 
do so, we are led to conclude that the ambi- 
tious historical Photoplay so far essayed has 
been at best but dramatic Spectacle. To ac- 
commodate the excess baggage of gorgeous 
and dynamic Spectacle several reels have gen- 
erally been added, bringing into being a new 
classification which we might term the Super- 
Feature. 

(EXAMPLE 28.) Not that historical plays are to 
be eschewed. The fame of Shakespeare is built 
largely _ upon his dramatic use of historical figures 
and crises. But a study of the Bard will reveal that 
his thematic characters dominated or motivated 

51 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

dynamic and atmospheric scenes in such a way that 
they always stood head and shoulders above them 
and could never be forgott-en- in the .turmoil for an 
instant. 

And so on, through the long list of enter- 
taining features to which the Screen has given 
birth. And there are myriad varieties yet to 
come! The Cartoon, the Pictograph, the 
Screen Magazine, the Travelogue, the Trav- 
elaugh, the imbecile Farce, Phenomena of 
Photography, and possibly the other fifty- 
seven varieties, like the orignal "57 Vari- 
eties," are all excellent pickles and mince- 
meat, no doubt; but they only garnish the 
roast beef, which is the big thing after all. 
The Photodrama as it may be expressed in 
the Feature Photoplay, is the roast beef. 

Having disposed of the non-dramatic 
forms, let us briefly discuss several of the 
kinds of screen production which are capable 
of attaining Photodrama.* It is our purpose 
here only to point out how they differ from 
the Feature Photoplay, as future chapters 
will undertake to show how all Photodrama 
may have its inception and development. 

One of the most fertile fields in Photo- 

• If the reader or student is interested further, it la 
suggested that he read and study "The Photodrama," by the 
present author. 

52 



TYPES OF PHOTOPLAYS 

drama has been long neglected in ignoring the 
splendid values of the Short Photoplay. By 
the Short Photoplay we mean one capable of 
being expressed in one, two or even three 
reels of film, though three reels is in danger 
of becoming a mongrel. The Short Photo- 
play bears the precise comparison to the Fea- 
ture Photoplay that the One-Act Play bears 
to the Full-Length Stage Drama. Offering 
the Novel as the analogy of the Feature 
Photoplay, we may fittingly compare the 
Short Story with the Short Play. 

Constructing the Short Photoplay, then, as 
we construct the One-Act Play, with one 
great character, one great motive, one great 
climax or punch ; and at once we have an ex- 
pression of Photodrama that can hold its 
own, just as the One- Act Play and the Short 
Story hold theirs. 

Series and Serials deserve to be popular in 
Photodrama just as much as they do in print. 
It is largely a question of quality in both. We 
employ the term Photodrama analogously 
with Literature. They are both the high Art 
of the species. Series and Serials were with- 
out a notable exception, stark Melodrama un- 
til 1920. As Melodrama is at best Art over- 
exaggerated, we can admit it only as far as 
the threshold of good Photodrama. Serials 

53 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

seem to depend for their lurid effects upon 
Melodrama, but there is no reason why Series 
may not share with the Short Species of 
Photoplay a highly artistic destiny. 

In a very brief space we have tried to dif- 
ferentiate the Feature Photoplay from other 
forms that may be classed equally as Photo- 
drama. But what we have been most anxious 
to do, is to separate it entirely from the medi- 
ocrity that shrouds it when it is generalized 
as "the Movies." 

"The Movies," and each of their whole- 
some manifestations, if they accomplish the 
end of successfully entertaining the multi- 
tude, like the circus, vaudeville and Punch- 
and-Judy, have a good reason for being and 
doing. Greetings and long life to them! 

Our single aim has been to show that "the 
Movies" can never be Photodrama! 



54 



The Method employed in fashion- 
ing a worth-zvhile Work can be no 
more haphazard than the Manner of 
a man taking a serious step in 
Life — both are fraught with Experi- 
ence and Training, Personality and 
Mood. 

CHAPTER VI 

Methods of Presentation 

presentation and expression; the artist- 
AUTHOR," phases of presentation; THE 
DESTINY OF A PHOTOPLAY. 

BY presentation we mean — almost, but not 
quite — expression. We alone can express 
our own thoughts and ideas. Others, how- 
ever, may interpret our thoughts and ideas 
and present them before the world. 

Before we can express ourselves adequate- 
ly we must understand ourselves, and then 
learn the language of our particular region of 
Art. We call this language Technique. If 
our interpreter intends to present our photo- 
dramatic ideas, we must of course speak a 
common tongue, must make ourselves intel- 
ligible to him. He must understand us! It 

55 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

will take a sympathetic expert to translate 
correctly our ideas from our original tongue 
into a universal language. 

The process of photodramatic presentation 
is all the foregoing. The conception of the 
idea is the author's. He weaves it into a plot 
composed of words and gives it over to the 
tender mercies of the multiple producers who 
must translate it into action. Surely a deli- 
cate process, fraught with temptation, peril 
and even disaster — to the original idea. 

Plays, like people, are endowed with a per- 
sonality at birth. With what personality a 
play is conceived, with that same personality 
it should live its life and fulfill its destiny. 
If a play-plan, or plot, is forced out of its 
natural orbit, it acts and lives and finally dies 
an unnatural death. It becomes a square peg 
in a round hole, a misfit, and, as in the case 
of so many mortals whose life and destiny are 
tampered with, its life is ruined. 

With the long-existing lack of unity in pur- 
pose, technique, and final expression, between 
author, rewriter, and producer, it is not to be 
wondered at that photoplays have been gar- 
bled somewhere along the line between con- 
ception and production. 

To say that an author merely conceives a 
plot, suggests an idea as it were to motion 

56 



METHODS OF PRESENTATION 

picture people for motion picture production, 
is to divide hopelessly the author and motion 
picture Art. And such indeed has been the 
common implication, from within the motion 
picture ranks at least. At this point we must 
qualify our term "author" unreservedly. The 
writer who merely submits a plot and leaves 
the photoplay to others, is but a plotter after 
all. Our photoplay author must conceive and 
express his plot with a full knowledge and 
vision of the screened play. 

All said and done, the artist-author is the 
foundation of the Photodrama, and the 
Photodrama is the bulwark of the Feature 
Photoplay. 

Phases of presentation should not be as 
much a matter of the genius of producers, as 
they ought to be a revelation of the texture 
and color of the author's mind and emotions 
during the labor of conception. Thus it hap- 
pens that brain-children are born under spe- 
cific dominating stars of destiny, some to live 
happily, others to struggle tragically; some to 
saunter amidst fantasy, others to laugh or to 
be laughed at. Thus, while we may say that 
comedy and tragedy are accidents of mind 
and mood and viewpoint of the author at the 
time of the play's conception, yet it is equally 
true that these qualities become the ruling 

57 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

events in the character and life and environ- 
ment of the play henceforth to the end. 

(EXAMPLE 29-30) Two common conditions in 
the development of the photoplay have led to the utter 
destruction of more than one splendid basic dramatic 
idea or theme. One condition has been that lament- 
able want of mutual understanding between author 
and continuity writer, wherein the author, utterly 
lacking in technical knowledge, failed to express 
himself, and the rewriter in despair was compelled 
to make a "free translation" that twisted the original 
intent into a short-lived cripple. The other condition 
is that of the rewriter, director, or other producer 
with vaulting ambition egged on by a prolific trite- 
ness to improve upon the original story of the author. 
Custom has permitted him a free hand, and the au- 
thor is scorned as the parent of the gnarled progeny 
that hobble across the screen. We have in mind 
an instance where a photoplay was built upon the 
benevolent activities of a charming old man known 
as "A Builder of Castles." The rewrite man saw 
an angle he liked better and on the screen the benev- 
olent character was crowded quite into the shadow 
and the unsuspected villain with an original set of 
villainies took his place in the foreground. Yet 
strangely — to those who do not recognize the ven- 
geance from tampering with destiny — the characters 
that had been created flesh and blood had shrivelled 
on the screen to animated puppets! 

Bear in mind that, in discussing the destiny 
of a play, we mean its lifelong 1 spiritual en- 
dowments, not the mere physical accidents 

58 



METHODS OF PRESENTATION 

of environment and condition that happen to 
surround its beginning. A change from lux- 
ury to poverty, or vice versa, is a dramatic 
advantage. But a change from an inherently 
morose to an inherently happy mind, or from 
basic tragedy to basic comedy, or from pre- 
vailing evil to prevailing good, is inherently, 
basicly and prevailingly unnatural. 

Thus we may assume that the spirit of 
presentation must be identical with the spirit 
of conception. Plays are conceived, then, after 
a certain genre, and they preserve their 
species throughout their course by means of 
a consistent treatment. 



59 



By Personalizing a Play, we mean 
the Preserving of its good Health, 
Safe-guarding its Principles, Keep- 
ing it true to Form, Enforcing Con- 
sistency from every fiber, until it 
becomes so Typically Perfect that it 
ceases to be objectively outside an 
audience, but rather subjectively a 
part of their ozvn Experience. 

CHAPTER VII 

The Personality of Plays 

play character; farce; comedy; comedy- 
drama; drama; melodrama; tragedy. 

UNRELIABLE, inconsistent, and disloyal 
people have few friends. A marked 
lack of sincerity in their make-up makes them 
untrustworthy. Such people lack poise and 
balance and scarcely command our serious 
attention. The basic trouble lies in the fact 
that they do not know what they are going to 
do themselves ! In other words, they are 
moved by impulses, swayed by whims, and 
will wantonly face a cataclysm. Their life 
is not ordered by those great principles that 
inspire, restrain and guide human conduct in 

60 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

moments of indecision and crisis. We say of 
such people that they are wanting in character 
and have no commanding personality. 

Photodrama is founded on character, and 
each photodrama in its ensemble has a charac- 
ter, or personality, all its own. We might call 
this latter endowment its spirit, which is ever 
atune to its emotional well-being. And as 
there is an ever-present reflection of spirit in 
the flesh and word and deed of the normal 
human being, so should there be a like con- 
sistency of form and action to the spirit in 
which the drama-being is conceived and has 
that being. 

(EXAMPLE 31.) The analogy is equally true of 
all works of art, as it is indeed one of the principles 
of Art itself. The rollicking spirit of a Jordacns 
canvas is skillfully reflected in its darkest corner, 
where we see the ripple of coarse laugnter even in 
the over-turned tankard. A single Byzantine col- 
umn amidst the Gothic glory of Amiens Cathedral 
would shock our soaring imagination into a state 
of impiety. A false note or a vagrant motif in one 
of Wagner's fine orchestrations would jangle and 
de characterize the whole sublime creation. 

In life, among our friends, in the very 
midst of our families, we have our Farceurs 
who carry the comedy of Life a little too far ; 
we have our Comedians who refuse to take 

61 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Life seriously; we have our Comedy-Drama- 
tists whom we find one day happy and the 
next day solemn; we have our Dramatists 
who battle Life seriously and who, we know, 
are going to win out in the end ; we have our 
Melodramatists who are always over-acting 
Life and exaggerating its commonplaces; and 
we have our Tragedians, alas, of whom Life, 
with some untoward circumstances and en- 
vironment, has broken the spirit, and who 
in the end must be crushed! 

Yet in each case do we find our fellow 
man's destiny in a large measure prognosti- 
cated in the radiation of his personality, par- 
ticularly when he has reached maturity. Re- 
liable, rational men are consistent and true to 
type. Human nature cannot lie. 

Thus in our Farcical Play, as in the antics 
of our circus clown, there is a characteristic 
spirit that must dominate and maintain 
throughout the farce, or the clown's "turn." 
Clownery becomes our theme, our point of 
view, our raison d'etre. We employ the ter- 
minology, the atmosphere, and the antics of 
horseplay. For a brief period the audience 
is made to live the life of the buffoon. 

(EXAMPLE 32.) It is just as absurd for a clown 
to come "out of his part" during his performance, 
and become serious, as it is for a tragedian to 

62 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

attempt to juggle his walking stick on the end of 
his nose. Neither could accomplish the feat with- 
out destroying the artistic poise of both themselves 
and their audiences. 

The question now may arise suddenly: But 
is Farce ever good or legitimate Drama — 
meaning Drama as the inclusive term for all 
artistic dramatic production? Drama is a 
fictitious re-presentation, or concentrated 
mirroring, of Life. Therefore, whatever is 
coherently true and typically consistent with 
Life, is drama. Farce, though it belittles 
Life's seriousness and flounders ludicrously 
through conventions, is as pronounced a phase 
of human Life as any of the other dominating 
vicissitudes. 

Therefore, the only question that need dis- 
turb is, Is it Farce or hodge-podge? Dra- 
matic Farce should conform to all the rules 
and laws that regulate and govern all the 
other members of the artistic family. It 
should be consistent to type, it should have 
plot, a beginning, a middle, and an end, it 
should have a climax and an artistic conclu- 
sion. There is always a place for good Farce 
in the Photodrama. 

Designating Drama as the dead center and 
rational being of all true dramatic composi- 
tion, Farce represents the extreme left wing, 

63 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

barely within the borderland of rationality 
at all. To produce a good Farce, then, is a 
delicate task, for the least step out of bounds 
brings us into the realm of irrationality, of 
the unartistic, of incoherent absurdities, of 
vaudeville hodge-podge. 

(EXAMPLE 33.) The early, the middle period, 
and the larger per cent of current so-called "come- 
dies" — mainly of the one and two-reel varieties — 
have been and are of an ill-bred, illogical, and inar- 
tistic class of entertainment that offend the taste 
and insult the intelligence of nine out of every ten 
who regularly patronise the Photodrama. The 
"laugh" is elicited chiefly through a clownish mix- 
ture of coarse allusions, rough-housing, custard pies, 
trick photography, and bodily contortions. The 
manufacturers call these mongrels comedies and 
photoplays, if you please. The supreme artistry of 
Charlie Chaplin, hung upon the rather slender thread 
of plot and somewhat disjointed string of incidents, 
barely brings his productions within the pale. "Til- 
lie's Punctured Romance" is an excellent Pared. 

If Farce is exaggerated Comedy, what is 
Comedy ? 

Comedy is as much an abused term as 
Humor, and Humor is the rarest gift with 
which man is endowed. True Humor implies 
the exercise of good-humor, sympathy, per- 
spicuity, discrimination, common sense, ap- 
preciation, wholesomeness, laughter. Being 

64 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

humorous means nothing more than being 
very human. What Humor is to Life, Com- 
edy is to the Drama. 

When we mortals are very, very human, 
yielding to all the little foibles, vanities, and 
idiosyncrasies of human nature, how very 
ridiculous we become in the eyes of our fel- 
low creatures ! To err is human ; and to err 
without malice, without criminal intent, may- 
hap innocently, is Comedy. 

From every aspect, Comedy is a very serious 
matter. In Comedy the situations and their 
complications are most amusing and humor- 
ous, but the characters are always serious. 
The more serious the characters are under 
the pressure of the situation, the more amus- 
ing they become. Again, Comedy is serious 
because it is so difficult. Most of us are un- 
conscious comedians because we take Life too 
seriously and battle ludicrously with it, ex- 
actly as Don Quixote did with the windmills. 
It takes a natural humorist to see the comedies 
in Life, and to natural gifts he must add ar- 
tistic ability to put Comedy in forms that un- 
humorous people may see the joke on them- 
selves without suffering any inconvenience 
from it. 

(EXAMPLE 34-) In "A Self-Made Widow" the 
heroine and motivating character throughout is a 

65 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

saddened country girl who, unable to find a live 
lover, claims a dead man as her husband! The 
dead man is not really dead. Disappointed in life, 
he has pretended suicide and gone to a foreign land. 
Serious people and matters these! One is seeking 
wealth, the other trying to lose it; both are seeking 
Romance. The circumstance is rich in Humor. 
Nothing could be quite so serious and disconcerting 
as to have the hero return and find his "widow" 
in possession of his name and fortune. How seri- 
ous for the characters, yet how amusing for the 
audience! 



A Comedy is a dramatic composition 
wherein the main and subsidiary situations 
are externally comic or suggest comic cul- 
mination. 

In the Farce the characters try to be funny 
and the situations are mainly the result of 
their own horseplay. In the Comedy the 
characters must be serious, and the situations 
are made to appear to the characters as the 
unforeseen (by themselves) consequence of 
their usually extravagant acts. 

The methods and mechanism of Farce and 
Comedy scarcely permit of a satisfactory 
combination of the two, which we might call 
Farce-Comedy. For the one deals with the 
external misadventures almost entirely, while 
the other demands the highest type of wit 
and the finest depth of feeling, making the 

66 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

Comedy a matter of nothing less than the 
finest dramatic art. 

On the other hand, we may successfully 
combine Comedy and Drama. In other 
words, we may weave a few brilliant strands 
of Comedy through an otherwise somber and 
heavy blanket of Drama, and call it Comedy- 
Drama. Or we may take a palpably comic 
theme and solemnize it here and there with 
intermittent dramatic crises, like thunder and 
lightning crashing and flashing ominously 
across a laughing summer's day, to close with 
a brilliant sunset reflecting in the happy 
smiles of all concerned — and call it a Dra- 
matic Comedy. 

(EXAMPLE 35.) "The Duchess of Dishwater" 
is a very serious play concerned in the main with 
very serious matters for all concerned. But the 
Drama is brightened up at every other step with 
delicious Comedy. Mary Monteith is left a penni- 
less orphan with but a dim memory of her aristo- 
cratic ancestors. She at length finds her ancestral 
estate. It is occupied by the new owners, the Den- 
nis O'Briens. Mary is put in the scullery, and here 
the lovable, kind-hearted "Dinny" O'Brien, seeking 
surcease from the rigors of Society and his newly- 
rich termagant wife, finds her. "Dinny" brings in 
the constant comedy, brightening the play and the 
dramatic life of Mary. So much for a Comedy- 
Drama. Now let us consider a Dramatic Comedy: 
"Only Johnnie Smith" is a breezy, cocksure sales- 

67 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

man whose brass and nerve at once and for all time 
give the Comedy verve to our play. But Johnnie 
mixes himself up in a very serious love mess of his 
boss's wife and an adventurer, that brings down 
several dramatic crises on his head fraught with 
calamity until the very end. 

Drama is not merely a picture of Life, it 
is more than that. Drama is the re-presenta- 
tion of the struggle for existence. Drama 
without struggle would be spineless, hence it 
could not be Drama at all. Drama is always 
an entertaining concrete example of the "sur- 
vival of the fittest" ; therefore the character 
or characters who motivate our Drama must 
be fit to survive. 

The dramatic idea is briefly summed up in 
a few words. Our Hero or Heroine, in the 
Beginning — the Introduction, the First Reel 
or Part of our play — in word, attitude, or 
action says, "I will!" As soon after this as 
possible, the Villain (or Circumstances, Ob- 
stacles or the other Characters) replies, "You 
will not ! You can't ! Impossible !" Our Hero 
accepts the challenge witii, "Very well, we 
shall see! / will!" Thereupon we enter upon 
the second Act, or Part, into the Struggle for 
existence and survival. At the Climax, our 
Hero stands at the pinnacle of his effort, after 
the supreme struggle, and repeats to his van- 

68 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

quished Obstacles, "I will !" Their defeat is 
evidence of their reply, "You have." There 
follows a little lapse for Justice properly to 
distribute palms and sackcloth, and our Hero 
turns our way and we can read in his tri- 
umphant eyes, "I told you so." And we, the 
audience, murmur, "Yes, you made us hope 
this, but the outcome was always in doubt, 
and now we are satisfied!" There we have 
Drama. 

(EXAMPLE 36.) In "Alias Jimmy Valentine" 
zve find the ex-convict with a noble desire to reform 
facing a world with his brave "I will!" But the 
world, with the assistance of the professional crimi- 
nal- snatch er , with equal positiveness says, "You will 
not! You can't! Impossible!" Follows the Strug- 
gle betzveen the Law and its victim. It looks as if 
Jimmie was going to win out. Then comes the day 
when his sweetheart's little friend gets closed in 
the great bank vault. The safe must be opened, 
immediately or the child will be suffocated. The 
Law is near at hand and knows but one man can 
do that ; and he is the man they are after, Jimmy 
Valentine, escaped convict! Jimmy knows that his 
liberty is gone and that she will now know the 
truth — but a child's life is at stake. He saves it! 
"I told you so!" he cries. We hoped he was true 
blue, now he has satisfied us of the fact. 

We all know him — this fellow, Melodrama 
— and his whole family. You have heard him 

69 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

vaunt what a handsome, virtuous Hero he is 
and what blood-curdling perils he has gone 
through single-handed to woo and win the 
woman he loves, who is the most beautiful 
Heroine with a lily-white soul and golden 
hair. He has had to vanquish, of course, the 
black-hearted Villain, who is incapable of 
drawing a pure breath of air. And so on. 
Life, Drama, and Humanity, a trifle over- 
drawn and over-done perhaps; but taken 
with a grain of salt as the only seasoning, and 
whh an appetite for this sort of thing, it is an 
excellent repast now and then. 

Too much and too frequent indulgence in 
Melodrama is certain to result in a dramatic 
indigestion or a vision as warped as the 
subject-matter itself, if the audience insists 
upon accepting it as Truth rather than En- 
tertainment. 

(EXAMPLE 37.) It is an occasional delight to 
while away an evening hour or two following with 
breathless imagination the perilous deviations in the 
brilliant career of "The Virgin of Stamboul." Here 
is a heroine for you! Though born of low degree, 
she is marked by Fate and the aristocratic, devil- 
may-care hero for a veritable thirty-third degree at 
the end of the play. Her Fate, her virtue, and her 
life hang ever upon a slender thread of peril, yet so 
beneficent are her guardian angel, her guiding star, 
and the author, that a steel cable never did better 

70 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

service. Our heroine is charming, maddening, glori- 
ous, brave to the point of foolhardiness. Our hero is 
handsome, reckless, and even more brave. Our 
villain gnashes his teeth, plans murder as though it 
were afternoon tea, and is triumphant to all but 
the very last! Our scenes, situations, and action are 
a cool shade-tree, amidst the delicious haze of a 
drowsing mood. When extravagant ideals enthrall 
us, then we saddle our wishes and ride forth ad- 
venturing, rescuing the Lady of our Dreams, rasing 
the Castle of Opposition and slaying the Ogre of 
Rivalry, all single-handed — and then perhaps are 
brought to a sudden "curtain" by the breaking of 
the Hammock, letting us down hard upon the bony 
lap of Life and Reality again! To repeat, Melo- 
drama is excellent occasionally, like other pleasur- 
able stimulants, which when indulged in too fre- 
quently endanger the stamina of the imbiber. 

Last of all comes Tragedy — the poet's dar- 
ling and the public's bugaboo. 

Stage a real hanging; advertise a bona-fide 
fatal accident; announce a disastrous fire that 
ruins a deserving man, destroys his treasures, 
burns up his family and stocks ; post the fact 
that a woman will commit suicide at dusk by 
jumping into the river — a gaping public 
would out-flock available space ! All classes, 
rich and poor, old and young, illiterate and 
educated, would pay admission if necessary. 
Many might remain at home, to be sure, some 
would come incognito, others would peep 

71 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

through the blinds. Such is man's morbid 
interest in a fellow-creature's supreme end. 

On the other hand, either blandly or bla- 
tantly, if you will, announce the dramatic pro- 
duction of a Tragedy — a modern "King Lear" 
or "Romeo and Juliet" or "Medea" or "Beau 
Brummel" or "Old Heidelberg," and the 
crowd will go to the baseball-game in defi- 
ance. The crowd cannot stomach Tragedy. 
The law is the only thing that holds back the 
public from a bull-fight, while only a threat 
of the law possibly could make them en masse 
witness a modern Tragedy. 

Tragedy strikes the sublimest key in the 
whole dramatic symphony. A race has not 
found its backbone nor a drama its stamina 
until it can produce Tragedy. Tragedy is the 
test of true excellence. Shallow-minded per- 
sons imagine that it is merely a death they 
are going to witness, whereas it is usually the 
Life of a noble soul, the endurance of a sub- 
lime principle, the supernal proof of charac- 
ter, in which the death of the hero is a mere 
incident. The theme is greater than the man. 
Wherever Drama has attained distinction, 
there one may find that Tragedy flourished. 

(EXAMPLE 38.) One of our finest towers of 
genius is built almost exclusively on a foundation 
of Tragedy. For Griffith saw the subliminal oppor- 

72 



METHODS OF PRESENTATION 

picture people for motion picture production, 
is to divide hopelessly the author and motion 
picture Art. And such indeed has been the 
common implication, from within the motion 
picture ranks at least. At this point we must 
qualify our term "author" unreservedly. The 
writer who merely submits a plot and leaves 
the photoplay to others, is but a plotter after 
all. Our photoplay author must conceive and 
express his plot with a full knowledge and 
vision of the screened play. 

All said and done, the artist-author is the 
foundation of the Photodrama, and the 
Photodrama is the bulwark of the Feature 
Photoplay. 

Phases of presentation should not be as 
much a matter of the genius of producers, as 
they ought to be a revelation of the texture 
and color of the author's mind and emotions 
during the labor of conception. Thus it hap- 
pens that brain-children are born under spe- 
cific dominating stars of destiny, some to live 
happily, others to struggle tragically; some to 
saunter amidst fantasy, others to laugh or to 
be laughed at. Thus, while we may say that 
comedy and tragedy are accidents of mind 
and mood and viewpoint of the author at the 
time of the play's conception, yet it is equally 
true that these qualities become the ruling 

57 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

events in the character and life and environ- 
ment of the play henceforth to the end. 

(EXAMPLE 29-30) Two common conditions in 
the development of the photoplay have led to the utter 
destruction of more than one splendid basic dramatic 
idea or theme. One condition has been that lament- 
able want of mutual understanding between author 
and continuity writer, wherein the author, utterly 
lacking in technical knowledge, failed to express 
himself, and the rewriter in despair was compelled 
to make a "free translation" that twisted the original 
intent into a short-lived cripple. The other condition 
is that of the rewriter, director, or other producer 
with vaulting ambition egged on by a prolific trite- 
ness to improve upon the original story of the author. 
Custom has permitted him a free hand, and the au- 
thor is scorned as the parent of the gnarled progeny 
that hobble across the screen. We have in mind 
an instance where a photoplay was built upon the 
benevolent activities of a charming old man known 
as "A Builder of Castles." The rewrite man saw 
an angle he liked better and on the screen the benev- 
olent character was crowded quite into the shadow 
and the unsuspected villain with an original set of 
villainies took his place in the foreground. Yet 
strangely — to those who do not recognize the ven- 
geance from tampering with destiny — the characters 
that had been created flesh and blood had shrivelled 
on the screen to animated puppets! 

Bear in mind that, in discussing the destiny 
of a play, we mean its lifelong spiritual en- 
dowments, not the mere physical accidents 

58 



METHODS OF PRESENTATION 

of environment and condition that happen to 
surround its beginning. A change from lux- 
ury to poverty, or vice versa, is a dramatic 
advantage. But a change from an inherently 
morose to an inherently happy mind, or from 
basic tragedy to basic comedy, or from pre- 
vailing evil to prevailing good, is inherently, 
basicly and prevailingly unnatural. 

Thus we may assume that the spirit of 
presentation must be identical with the spirit 
of conception. Plays are conceived, then, after 
a certain genre, and they preserve their 
species throughout their course by means of 
a consistent treatment. 



59 



By Personalizing a Play, we mean 
the Preserving of its good Health, 
Safe-guarding its Principles, Keep- 
ing it true to Form, Enforcing Con- 
sistency from every fiber, until it 
becomes so Typically Perfect that it 
ceases to be objectively outside an 
audience, but rather subjectively a 
part of their oivn Experience. 

CHAPTER VII 

The Personality of Plays 

play character; farce; comedy; comedy- 
drama; drama; melodrama; tragedy. 

UNRELIABLE, inconsistent, and disloyal 
people have few friends. A marked 
lack of sincerity in their make-up makes them 
untrustworthy. Such people lack poise and 
balance and scarcely command our serious 
attention. The basic trouble lies in the fact 
that they do not know what they are going to 
do themselves ! In other words, they are 
moved by impulses, swayed by whims, and 
will wantonly face a cataclysm. Their life 
is not ordered by those great principles that 
inspire, restrain and guide human conduct in 

60 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

moments of indecision and crisis. We say of 
such people that they are wanting in character 
and have no commanding personality. 

Photodrama is founded on character, and 
each photodrama in its ensemble has a charac- 
ter, or personality, all its own. We might call 
this latter endowment its spirit, which is ever 
atune to its emotional well-being. And as 
there is an ever-present reflection of spirit in 
the flesh and word and deed of the normal 
human being, so should there be a like con- 
sistency of form and action to the spirit in 
which the drama-being is conceived and has 
that being. 

(EXAMPLE 31.) The analogy is equally true of 
all works of art, as it is indeed one of the principles 
of Art itself. The rollicking spirit of a Jordams 
canvas is skillfully reflected in its darkest corner, 
where we see the ripple of coarse laughter even tV, 
the over-turned tankard. A single Byzantine col- 
umn amidst the Gothic glory of Amiens Cathedral 
would shock our soaring imagination into a slate 
of impiety. A false note or a vagrant motif in one 
of Wagner's fine orchestrations would jangle and 
de characterize the whole sublime creation. 

In life, among our friends, in the very 
midst of our families, we have our Farceurs 
who carry the comedy of Life a little too far ; 
we have our Comedians who refuse to take 

61 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Life seriously; we have our Comedy-Drama- 
tists whom we find one day happy and the 
next day solemn; we have our Dramatists 
who battle Life seriously and who, we know, 
are going to win out in the end ; we have our 
Melodramatists who are always over-acting 
Life and exaggerating its commonplaces; and 
we have our Tragedians, alas, of whom Life, 
with some untoward circumstances and en- 
vironment, has broken the spirit, and who 
in the end must be crushed! 

Yet in each case do we find our fellow 
man's destiny in a large measure prognosti- 
cated in the radiation of his personality, par- 
ticularly when he has reached maturity. Re- 
liable, rational men are consistent and true to 
type. Human nature cannot lie. 

Thus in our Farcical Play, as in the antics 
of our circus clown, there is a characteristic 
spirit that must dominate and maintain 
throughout the farce, or the clown's "turn." 
Clownery becomes our theme, our point of 
view, our raison d'etre. We employ the ter- 
minology, the atmosphere, and the antics of 
horseplay. For a brief period the audience 
is made to live the life of the buffoon. 

(EXAMPLE 32.) It is just as absurd for a clown 
to come "out of his part" during his performance, 
and become serious, as it is for a tragedian to 

62 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

attempt to juggle his walking stick on the end of 
his nose. Neither could accomplish the feat with- 
out destroying the artistic poise of both themselves 
and their audiences. 

The question now may arise suddenly: But 
is Farce ever good or legitimate Drama — 
meaning Drama as the inclusive term for all 
artistic dramatic production? Drama is a 
fictitious re-presentation, or concentrated 
mirroring, of Life. Therefore, whatever is 
coherently true and typically consistent with 
Life, is drama. Farce, though it belittles 
Life's seriousness and flounders ludicrously 
through conventions, is as pronounced a phase 
of human Life as any of the other dominating 
vicissitudes. 

Therefore, the only question that need dis- 
turb is, Is it Farce or hodge-podge? Dra- 
matic Farce should conform to all the rules 
and laws that regulate and govern all the 
other members of the artistic family. It 
should be consistent to type, it should have 
plot, a beginning, a middle, and an end, it 
should have a climax and an artistic conclu- 
sion. There is always a place for good Farce 
in the Photodrama. 

Designating Drama as the dead center and 
rational being of all true dramatic composi- 
tion, Farce represents the extreme left wing, 

63 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

barely within the borderland of rationality 
at all. To produce a good Farce, then, is a 
delicate task, for the least step out of bounds 
brings us into the realm of irrationality, of 
the unartistic, of incoherent absurdities, of 
vaudeville hodge-podge. 

(EXAMPLE 33.) The early, the middle period, 
and the larger per cent of current so-called "come- 
dies" — mainly of the one and two-reel varieties — 
have been and are of an ill-bred, illogical, and inar- 
tistic class of entertainment that offend the taste 
and insult the intelligence of nine out of every ten 
who regularly patronise the Photodrama. The 
"laugh" is elicited chiefly through a clownish mix- 
ture of coarse allusions, rough-housing, custard pies, 
trick photography, and bodily contortions. The 
manufacturers call these mongrels comedies and 
photoplays, if you please. The supreme artistry of 
Charlie Chaplin, hung upon the rather slender thread 
of plot and somewhat disjointed string of incidents, 
barely brings his productions within the pale. "Txl- 
lie's Punctured Romance" is an excellent Pares. 

If Farce is exaggerated Comedy, what is 
Comedy ? 

Comedy is as much an abused term as 
Humor, and Humor is the rarest gift with 
which man is endowed. True Humor implies 
the exercise of good-humor, sympathy, per- 
spicuity, discrimination, common sense, ap- 
preciation, wholesomeness, laughter. Being 

64 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

edy is to the Drama human> 

When we mortals are veiy, »>» i , 

■ia-ZZJ the little foibles, vanities, and 
yielding to all the lime how yery 

idiosyncrasies of ™*°»*^ ' oi our f el- 
ridiculous we become « the «y« and ^ ^ 

&SK3i wifuVcriminal intent, may- 

S«r^s a r^= 

act v a Don Quixote did with the windmills 
Tt akes a natural humorist to see the comedies 
n Life and to natural gifts, he must add ar- 
istic ability to put Comedy in forms that un- 
humorou people may see the joke on them- 
selves without suffering any inconvenience 

^EXAMPLE 34.) In "A Self-Made Wido«f> the 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

saddened country girl who, unable to find a live 
lover, claims a dead man as her husband! ^ The 
dead man is not really dead. Disappointed in life, 
he has pretended suicide and gone to a foreign land. 
Serious people and matters these! One is seeking 
wealth, the other trying to lose it; both are seeking 
Romance. The circumstance is rich in Humor. 
Nothing could be quite so serious and disconcerting 
as to have the hero return and find his "widow" 
in possession of his name and fortune. How seri- 
ous for the characters, yet how amusing for the 
audience! 

A Comedy is a dramatic composition 
wherein the main and subsidiary situations 
are externally comic or suggest comic cul- 
mination. 

In the Farce the characters try to be funny 
and the situations are mainly the result of 
their own horseplay. In the Comedy the 
characters must be serious, and the situations 
are made to appear to the characters as the 
unforeseen (by themselves) consequence of 
their usually extravagant acts. 

The methods and mechanism of Farce and 
Comedy scarcely permit of a satisfactory 
combination of the two, which we might call 
Farce-Comedy. For the one deals with the 
external misadventures almost entirely, while 
the other demands the highest type of wit 
and the finest depth of feeling, making the 

66 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

Comedy a matter of nothing less than the 
^^rSefhand we ma y successfully 

rsrwe c r; d we a ^ s&jms 

rfSmSr through an otherwise somber and 

heavy blanket of Drama, and call it Comedy 
Drama Or we may take a palpably comic 
?hemeand° solemnize" it.here and then srij 
intermittent dramatic crises, like thunder ana 
Staring crashing and flashing ormnou ly 
afross a S laughing summer's day to close ^wjh 
a brilliant sunset reflecting m the ^happy 
smiles of all concerned-and call it a Ura 
matic Comedy. 

SPY AMPLE ?0 "The Duchess of Dishwater" 
i/flif serious Play concerned in *.««*•«* 
very serious matters for all concerned But the 

?£ lovale kind-hearted "Dinny" O'Bnen, seeking 

X «mrto»< «m«*y, in 9htenmg the Play and the 

'^OnTy Johnnie Smith" is a breezy, cocksure sales- 
67 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

man whose brass and nerve at once and for all time 
give the Comedy verve to our play. But Johnnie 
mixes himself up in a very serious love mess of his 
boss's wife and an adventurer, that brings down 
several dramatic crises on his head fraught with 
calamity until the very end. 

Drama is not merely a picture of Life, it 
is more than that. Drama is the re-presenta- 
tion of the struggle for existence. Drama 
without struggle would be spineless, hence it 
could not be Drama at all. Drama is always 
an entertaining concrete example of the "sur- 
vival of the fittest" ; therefore the character 
or characters who motivate our Drama must 
be fit to survive. 

The dramatic idea is briefly summed up in 
a few words. Our Hero or Heroine, in the 
Beginning — the Introduction, the First Reel 
or Part of our play — in word, attitude, or 
action says, "I will !" As soon after this as 
possible, the Villain (or Circumstances, Ob- 
stacles or the other Characters) replies, "You 
will not ! You can't ! Impossible !" Our Hero 
accepts the challenge witii, "Very well, we 
shall see ! / will!" Thereupon we enter upon 
the second Act, or Part, into the Struggle for 
existence and survival. At the Climax, our 
Hero stands at the pinnacle of his effort, after 
the supreme struggle, and repeats to his van- 

68 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

quished Obstacles, "I will !" Their defeat is 
evidence of their reply, "You have." There 
follows a little lapse for Justice properly to 
distribute palms and sackcloth, and our Hero 
turns our way and we can read in his tri- 
umphant eyes, "I told you so." And we, the 
audience, murmur, "Yes, you made us hope 
this, but the outcome was always in doubt, 
and now we are satisfied !" There we have 
Drama. 

(EXAMPLE 36.) In "Alias Jimmy Valentine" 
we find the ex-convict with a noble desire to reform 
facing a world with his brave "I will!" But the 
world, with the assistance of the professional crimi- 
nal-snatcher, with equal positiveness says, "You will 
not! You cant! Impossible!" Follows the Strug- 
gle betzveen the Law and its victim. It looks as if 
Jimmie was going to win out. Then comes the day 
when his sweethearfs little friend gets closed in 
the great bank vault. The safe must be opened, 
immediately or the child will be suffocated. The 
Law is near at hand and knows but one man can 
do that; and he is the man they are after, Jimmy 
Valentine, escaped convict! Jimmy knows that his 
liberty is gone and that she will now know the 
truth — but a child's life is at stake. He saves it! 
"I told you so!" he cries. We hoped he was true 
blue, now he has satisfied us of the fact. 

We all know him — this fellow, Melodrama 
— and his whole family. You have heard him 

69 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

vaunt what a handsome, virtuous Hero he is 
and what blood-curdling perils he has gone 
through single-handed to woo and win the 
woman he loves, who is the most beautiful 
Heroine with a lily-white soul and golden 
hair. He has had to vanquish, of course, the 
black-hearted Villain, who is incapable of 
drawing a pure breath of air. And so on. 
Life, Drama, and Humanity, a trifle over- 
drawn and over-done perhaps; but taken 
with a grain of salt as the only seasoning, and 
with an appetite for this sort of thing, it is an 
excellent repast now and then. 

Too much and too frequent indulgence in 
Melodrama is certain to result in a dramatic 
indigestion or a vision as warped as the 
subject-matter itself, if the audience insists 
upon accepting it as Truth rather than En- 
tertainment. 

(EXAMPLE 37.) It is an occasional delight to 
while away an evening hour or two following with 
breathless imagination the perilous deviations in the 
brilliant career of "The Virgin of Stamboul." Here 
is a heroine for you! Though born of low degree, 
she is marked by Fate and the aristocratic, devil- 
may-care hero for a veritable thirty-third degree at 
the end of the play. Her Fate, her virtue, and her 
life hang ever upon a slender thread of peril, yet so 
beneficent are her guardian angel, her guiding star, 
and the author, that a steel cable never did better 

70 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

service. Our heroine is charming, maddening, glori- 
ous, brave to the point of foolhardiness. Our hero is 
handsome, reckless, and even more brave. Our 
villain gnashes his teeth, plans murder as though it 
were afternoon tea, and is triumphant to all but 
the very last! Our scenes, situations, and action are 
a cool shade-tree, amidst the delicious haze of a 
drowsing mood. When extravagant ideals enthrall 
us, then we saddle our wishes and ride forth ad- 
venturing, rescuing the Lady of our Dreams, rasing 
the Castle of Opposition and slaying the Ogre of 
Rivalry, all single-handed — and then perhaps are 
brought to a sudden "curtain" by the breaking of 
the Hammock, letting us down hard upon the bony 
lap of Life and Reality again! To repeat, Melo- 
drama is excellent occasionally, like other pleasur- 
able stimulants, which when indulged in too fre- 
quently endanger the stamina of the imbiber. 

Last of all comes Tragedy — the poet's dar- 
ling and the public's bugaboo. 

Stage a real hanging; advertise a bona-fide 
fatal accident; announce a disastrous fire that 
ruins a deserving man, destroys his treasures, 
burns up his family and stocks ; post the fact 
that a woman will commit suicide at dusk by 
jumping into the river — a gaping public 
would out-flock available space ! All classes, 
rich and poor, old and young, illiterate arid 
educated, would pay admission if necessary. 
Many might remain at home, to be sure, some 
would come incognito, others would peep 

71 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

through the blinds. Such is man's morbid 
interest in a fellow-creature's supreme end. 

On the other hand, either blandly or bla- 
tantly, if you will, announce the dramatic pro- 
duction of a Tragedy — a modern "King Lear" 
or "Romeo and Juliet" or "Medea" or "Beau 
Brummel" or "Old Heidelberg," and the 
crowd will go to the baseball-game in defi- 
ance. The crowd cannot stomach Tragedy. 
The law is the only thing that holds back the 
public from a bull-fight, while only a threat 
of the law possibly could make them en masse 
witness a modern Tragedy. 

Tragedy strikes the sublimest key in the 
whole dramatic symphony. A race has not 
found its backbone nor a drama its stamina 
until it can produce Tragedy. Tragedy is the 
test of true excellence. Shallow-minded per- 
sons imagine that it is merely a death they 
are going to witness, whereas it is usually the 
Life of a noble soul, the endurance of a sub- 
lime principle, the supernal proof of charac- 
ter, in which the death of the hero is a mere 
incident. The theme is greater than the man. 
Wherever Drama has attained distinction, 
there one may find that Tragedy flourished. 

(EXAMPLE 38.) One of our finest towers of 
genius is built almost exclusively on a foundation 
of Tragedy. For Griffith saw the subliminal oppor- 

72 



PERSONALITY OF PLAYS 

tunity that lay in Tragedy and dared give expres- 
sion to his vision; and who shall say "The Birth of 
a Nation," "Hearts of the World'' and "Broken 
Blossoms" were not ahvays in the vanguard of all 
productions of their day? 

Tragedy is the oldest of all dramatic forms, 
it endures longest and it pierces deepest. 
The fine Tragedy reaches the most coveted 
field in all literary or dramatic achievement — 
that of the Epic. 



73 



By reason of the Emotional texture 
of the Drama it is by nature a Crea- 
ture of Moods. Thus each Photo- 
play is conceived in and enthralled 
by a given Frame of Mind that gives 
Beauty to treatment, Harmony to 
Theme, Color to Atmosphere, Power 
to Climax, and Poignancy to the 
General Effect. 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Art of Treatment 

personalities ; plot-children j the photo- 
play of idea, of theme (combinations), 
of propaganda, of character, of charm, 
of fantasy, of atmosphere, of dynamic 
situation, of dramatic climax, of sat- 
IRE, OF mystery; INGENUE AND JUVENILE 

photodrama; captions. 

THE personality of a photoplay — like the 
personality of a man — is the core of its 
inner being; the treatment of a Photoplay is 
the texture and cut of the outer dress. Treat- 
ment, or dress, should be consistent and 
harmonious with the photoplay's reflected 

74 



ART OF TREATMENT 

personality, if we are to see that essential 
personality to the best advantage. 

(EXAMPLE 39.) There are people who make 
the mistake of not properly clothing their person- 
alities and persons, and so stumble through the 
whole pathway of life branded and ridiculed as a 
misfit, when a fitting choice and arrangement of 
habiliments and ornamentation might have altered 
and enriched their destiny. Thus the beauty of a 
young girl of the slums may be obscured by dirty 
rags; the erstwhile brilliant light of an aging man 
is allowed to flicker and become the butt of chil- 
dren because he permits his appearance to run down; 
a king accidentally aarbed as a beggar would be 
shorn of homage and dignity. 

So each photoplay conception is prone to 
flourish best under a given garment of treat- 
ment. 

(EXAMPLE 40.) Take "The Clansman," which 
Griffith selected as the photoplay that was destined 
to take the mediocrity out of American Photo- 
drama. Here was a plot and story that had many 
earmarks of mediocrity and triteness about it. As 
a novel, it had attained no classic heights; as a play 
it had been a failure. The subject reeked with par- 
tisanship. Obviously it was dangerous material to 
handle. Treatment alone could give it distinction. 
The temptation to do exactly as Dixon had done and 
treat the play as one of Dynamic Situation, with the 
thunderous and melodramatic doings of the Ku Klux 
Klan as the raison d'etre and pivotal factor, was! 

75 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

most alluring. But Griffith and his vision were too 
great for that misstep. He saw his opportunity — 
how rare! — for Epic Treatment. Here he could en- 
vision the horrific glories of War, the heroism of the 
South, the tragedy of Reconstruction. In "The 
Birth of a Nation" we saw, felt, and pondered over 
them all. Griffith triumphed — as he has always con- 
tinued to do — because he is a master of treatment. 

Our plot-children are no exceptions to na- 
ture — they are born naked. During the re- 
mainder of their practical lives in the world 
— as they creep and walk toward maturity — 
clothes play an essential part in their effec- 
tiveness. If a plot is allowed to grow up wild 
and run throughout its course half clothed, 
it logically becomes a barbarian. If it wears 
a coat of too many patterns and colors, that 
is a sure token of unsound reason. 

(EXAMPLE 41.) We all have witnessed photo- 
plays that began delightfully — in a fantastic mood, 
for example — and thereafter switched from one 
mood, or treatment, to another until we have been 
bewildered and wondered what the author was think- 
ing about, or if the patchwork garment was the re- 
sult of the production's being carried out at great 
intervals or under constantly changing emotional 
stress. "The Self Made Widow," for instance, 
opened its production as a photoplay of Humor. 
Suddenly it switched to a play of Character; then 
Fantasy seized the director; later he was caught in 
the web of Mystery, but closed the play as one of 

76 



ART OF TREATMENT 

Dynamic Situation. The author had plotted it as a 
Fantasy, but the director so garbled his moods in 
the treatment that a very unusual plot became an 
unusually disappointing photoplay. 

By a Photoplay of Idea we mean one that 
is constructed under the stress of a given 
idea. The given idea inspires, dominates, 
governs, and colors the treatment of the en- 
tire production. By Idea we may mean a 
conception commonly in the minds of most 
thinking people, or a powerful impression or 
conviction of the artist-author which he seeks 
to re-vision through his especial art-medium, 
or a conflict between two established ideas 
seeking a solution, or a poetic idea carried on 
into being. In other words, a Photoplay of 
Idea is concerned with the single task of met- 
amorphosing an abstract theory into a con- 
crete fact. 

(EXAMPLE 42.) By way of illustrating the 
above, in the order named, we offer the following 
examples: (1) In "The Two Runaways" we find a 
demonstration of the common idea that there is no 
place like home, in following the adventures of a 
child and an old man who ran away from home, but 
were glad to return to it; (2) "The Poverty of 
Riches" shows the author working out in photoplay 
story one of his impressions and convictions; (3) in 
"The Greatest Thing In The World" we find a con- 
flict of ideas in solution — which is the greater, Life 

77 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

or Death — wherein a brute of a man whose chief 
pastime is killing, is vanquished by a woman with a 
passion for Life; (4) in "Just A Song At Twilight" 
we find a hardened man eventually softened to the 
point of regeneration through the emotional effect >n 
his poetic fancy of a recurring air fraught with fine 
associations. 

A Theme Photoplay is one in which we 
take a specific subject and make it the text, 
as it were, of our play. We seize upon every 
technical opportunity and legitimate treat- 
ment and natural means of driving home our 
point. Yet, to remain truly artistic, we must 
deftly avoid sermonizing or even moralizing. 
Our theme must be in the essence of the 
story, rather than in the substance of treat- 
ment alone. We may choose any one of the 
potent psychological or emotional factors in 
human evolution as the subject of our dra- 
matic discourse. It is well to note that ama- 
teurs are prone to attempt the Theme Photo- 
play, but only the finished craftsman can 
artistically render the theme ! 

(EXAMPLE 43-) Thomas H. Ince climbed to 
great heights with a theme play once, called "Civili- 
zation." Griffith did an amazing Spectacle with 
man's everlasting "Intolerance" as the theme. Every 
year brings forth photoplays employing as their 
themes War, Vengeance, Hatred, and so on. 

78 



ART OF TREATMENT 

When a Photoplay, through the exploita- 
tion of a theme that favors one class and con- 
demns another, or that endeavors to foist a 
new doctrine upon the world, or the passion- 
ate belief of a minority or a majority upon 
non-believers, then our theme becomes Prop- 
aganda. Good photoplays may be built with 
propagandistic material, but because of their 
lack of universal appeal they violate Art's 
finest canon. Art is, that all — even the clod — ■ 
may see revealed in terms of sympathy and 
tolerance through the vision of a few seers, 
the passions, the conflicts, the glories, and the 
ideals of humanity. 

Educational propaganda is another matter, 
and has a legitimate place in pedagogy, but 
not in Art. 

On first thought, the Play of Character 
would seem to be the most common treat- 
ment of all. Further consideration will re- 
veal that far the larger number of "character 
Photoplays" are mere vehicles for actor ex- 
ploitation. When a character carries the en- 
tire play along on his own shoulders — is the 
beginning, the middle, and the end of it — en- 
grosses its every fiber and absorbs the emo- 
tional interest of the audience, without upset- 
ting the traditions of good drama — then we 
have a Character Photoplay. A character 

79 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

play implies the action of an extraordinary 
character — endowed with energy, imbued 
with ambition — incited to revolt or battling 
against some form of usurpation, in an ag- 
gressive conflict with circumstances. The av- 
erage character is the average person, and is 
at best but a part of the story and does not 
sway the whole story incessantly by his will. 

(EXAMPLE 44-) In "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" 
we can think of nothing else, even for days after- 
ward, but that dual character. He obsesses the story 
and the audience. He is the story I "Camille" is 
the story of a single soul struggle. 

The Photoplay of Charm must be nothing 
short of a charming photoplay. "Isn't it 
charming!" is a byword among sentimental 
people for theatrical mush and saccharinity, 
young people and animals, blondes and baby 
eyes. Granted that the idea is charming, 
fifty per cent of its success in a play lies in 
its treatment, delicate and winsome, pleasing 
and spell-binding. 

(EXAMPLE 45-) In "The Royal Pauper" we find 
the heroine a sprightly little person who, like Peter 
Pan, believes in fairies because the fairy tales are 
real to her. Like Cinderella, she is a princess in 
the poorhouse; she is bewitched; some day the royal 
family will come and reclaim her. In fact, she is 

80 



ART OF TREATMENT 

later taken to the home of a wealthy philanthropist 
whose love story we see worked out while she waits 
for Prince Charming. Here is a plot for a Play of 
Charm, which was produced successfully. 

Many Photoplays of Fantasy are also 
charm plays. As these plays are frolics of 
fancy on the part of the author, all depends 
upon the bent his imagination takes. By 
means of the fantasy a humdrum world is 
projected into the artist's innermost soul 
which, it is said, is haunted by actual angels 
and fairies, ghosts and devils, all of which 
are at his command. 

(EXAMPLE 46.) Take "Prunella.'* What a de- 
lightful concoction of fact and fancy! "Twenty 
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea" was a rare fan- 
tasy wretchedly produced in its premiere. What a 
delicious revel of fancy is "The Poor Little Rich 
Girl!" Poe will yet take us through many fantastic 
chambers of horrors on the screen. 

The Play of Atmosphere vies with Charm 
and Fantasy in its subtleties. Yet Atmos- 
phere, like the other two, is a sheer matter of 
treatment. How often do we find the old, old 
plots repeated. We say and believe that they 
are entirely different stories; but as a matter 
of fact it is the same old plot with a new 

81 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

treatment of Atmosphere, with a different 
setting, the pleasing, comfortable "Old Home- 
stead" with a new coat of paint! 

(EXAMPLE 47.) As a drama "The Red Lantern" 
was a failure; as a study in atmospheric treatment 
it was remarkable. "Out of the Fog" was another 
example, this time a fine drama, rich in atmosphere. 
The former was altogether a matter of Chinese set- 
tings and customs; the latter, one of the desolate 
loneliness of the sea and its effect on character. In 
"Tcss of the Storm Country" we are made to feel 
the primitive atmosphere through bleak barbaric 
scenes and life reacting on character. 

The secret of treatment lies in the manage- 
ment of detail. For instance, the Photoplay 
of Mystery is shrouded in baffling events and 
groping leads made misleading, though logical 
always, through treatment. And of course in 
the mystery play we start with the big deed — 
the murder, robbery, disappearance, or other 
enigma to be unravelled or solved — which 
is equivalent to the climax in the play of 
dynamic situation. 

(EXAMPLE 48.) Forerunners of the excellent 
opportunities afforded by Photodrama to achieve 
success in the field of Mystery are to be found in the 
sensational serials fabricated so as to be taken amidst 
delicious agony in weekly doses. "The House of 

82 



ART OF TREATMENT 

Hate" was a classic of its species, not only concoct- 
ing a minor mystery for weekly solution, but success- 
fully suspending the major mystery throughout 
twelve or more episodes. 

In the Play of Dynamic Situation, or the 
story with the walloping climax, we have the 
type that is most commonly attempted, per- 
haps. In that it is dynamic, physical phenom- 
ena play a large part in its emotional crises. 
What happens outside the characters to im- 
peril their bodies is of larger significance than 
what happens inside the characters to jeopard- 
ize their immortal souls and mortal happiness. 
All events and crises are focussed or hinged 
on a series of dynamic situations, or possibly 
reserved for a tremendous smashing climax. 
So each little element in the play is piled up 
to resist or to be overthrown by the oncoming 
avalanche. 

(EXAMPLE 40.) An unforgetable example zvas 
"Shell 43," a war play that was filled with dynamic 
situations and was concluded with a tremendous 
climax in which an unexpected shell demolished the 
hero, after excruciating suspense made poignant 
through well-managed, treatment. The crude melo- 
drama, like "A Million Bid" was a physical structure 
throughout, with one bodily peril after the other 
culminating in a spectacular shipwreck, no material 
detail of which was omitted. 

83 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Of a much finer order, and the truly artis- 
tic thing as well, is the Play of Dramatic 
Climax. Dynamics concerns itself with the 
physical forces of energy, that which is 
theatrical, the sensational, the substance. 
Drama employs dynamics only as a means to 
an end. Drama concerns itself with emotional 
potentiality; it is the essence. How to depict 
the inner man in conflict, in agony, in ecstasy, 
in extremity, in triumph — it takes the artist 
to discover and employ the true symbols with- 
out the dynamic roar and bustle that oblit- 
erates the refined dramatic taste and touch. 
The sweeping, moving, soul-crushing or soul- 
soaring dramatic climax is what all dramatists 
should ever be seeking to attain. 

(EXAMPLE 50.) In this classification, a gem of 
the first water is "Broken Blossoms." Particularly 
in the scene where the Chinaman worships with 
beatific tenderness, the little waif of the gutters, and 
she accepts the homage with the sublime grace of a 
princess royal, her half-crushed soul quivering in 
the sunlight of its cherished dreams for a moment. 
And all the while we know, she knows, the Chinaman 
knows — and all hope with poignant futility against 
it— that the Brute will come in a blind annihilating 
rage and plunge them all into eternal darkness. Here 
is the Big Moment achieved amidst a hush, a half- 
gesture, a faltering look, a broken word. No fall- 
ing bridge nor smashing locomotive nor thundering 
cannon could produce such a climax as that! 

84 



ART OF TREATMENT 

The Photoplay of Satire will admit of 
greater development than it has received in 
the early days of Photodrama. Satire is a 
keen-edged chisel to be employed in chipping 
and planing away false overgrowths, unnatu- 
ral bark and hypocritical veneer that now and 
again encrust society and obscure the Truth. 
It is only distantly related to the bludgeon of 
burlesque and the poker of travesty. The 
creator of Satire must be both a wit and a 
philosopher, ior his humor not only must be 
sharp enough to pierce the deceptive shell of 
sham, but also his good sense must know life 
when he touches it and offer a remedv 
through antithesis for man's bruised credulity. 

(EXAMPLE 51.) There htve been several satires 
on the Kaiser's magnanimity, but they all soon dulled 
their edge against our bones of incredulity or went 
too deep and shattered our nerve of good taste. 
Both of which are common dangers in satirizing. 
Griffith made a little satire early in his career, "The 
Reformers." We saw a town gone crazy on reform. 
The mother and father of a fine boy and girl are 
the leaders. They go to a convention, and while 
they are away the son is lured to drink and the 
daughter is filched. In reforming the world they had 
neglected their own home and children. 

Ingenue and Juvenile Photoplays are not 
mere accidents of selecting material, they are 
very especial incidents of treatment. A child 

85 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

play is not a child play because a child is in it. 
The heart, the soul, the viewpoint, and the 
feeling of the child must be there too. Here, 
again, we may have the old, old plot, but it be- 
comes a new and delightful friend if we suc- 
ceed in dressing its body and adorning its soul 
as a child. 

Bear in mind that there is the child's play 
for children, and the child's play for grown- 
ups. Both are difficult, and it demands art to 
avoid becoming silly or stupid. 

(EXAMPLE 52.) Grimm and Andersen were 
both geniuses who may be readily translated to the 
screen zvith all their wonderful effects because of 
the adaptability of trick photography. Theirs are 
stories for children that never pall. For many years 
the screen was deluged with so-called ingenue or 
ingenuous plays for groivn-ups. Most of these were 
saccharine daubs, but now and again one of the 
myriad ingenues stumbled upon a fairly good vehicle 
— like "The Primrose Ring," "A Dream Or Two 
Ago," and "Seventeen" 

Combinations of treatment may be made 
effectively, but a single treatment must pre- 
dominate, with but a coloring dash from any 
other mode of treatment. 

(EXAMPLE 53-) So in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 
Hyde," character predominates, with occasional 
dashes of mystery, atmosphere, and fantasy coloring 
the fabric constantly. "The Poor Little Rich Girl" 
was glowing with charm. 

86 






ART OF TREATMENT 

Treatment is not accomplished by means of 
a broad brush filled with blinding- color, but 
rather with a fine hair-brush dipped in natural 
tints and applied with a gentle touch until the 
whole tone of the picture is that of the des- 
ignated treatment, although one is unable to 
put his finger on a single unblended splotch 
of color. 

One of the most effective external instru- 
ments of Treatment is the Caption. In the 
hands of a clever and feeling painter of 
words, an occasional Caption will anticipate 
the desired effect, maintain it persistently, 
and bring it into full flower at the Climax. 
In thus employing the Caption, however, we 
must bear in mind that it is never to be used 
at all if it can be dispensed with and not de- 
tract from the dramatic perfection of the 
work. 

(EXAMPLE 54.) Thus in a Dynamic Photoplay 
we sound the keynote at the outset in this Caption: 
"There YOU are, or anyone else who happens to 
fall into the path of his ambitions!" We know she 
will fall into his path, and already sense the big 
scene. The first part of a Play of Character ends 
with, "Yes, and the very first chance I get I'm going 
to run away and be bad, bad, BAD!" We know 
she will; the play is her character. And the cap- 
tion, "And all the years thou hast been my invisible 
star to zvhom I have played and sung and smiled!" 
is redolent with atmosphere and feeling. 

87 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

In conclusion, we assume that the subject 
matter of each photoplay inspires, develops, 
and admits of a distinct, definite and persist- 
ent mood, frame of mind, and treatment that 
brings out all its virtues, gives it a powerful 
poise, and mobilizes all its potentialities. The 
art of Treatment is the artist's fine sensitive- 
ness for true color-values, without which the 
picture will lack chiaroscuro, be flat and im- 
personal, and thus fall short of Art. 



88 



II 

TECHNIQUE 



It seems scarcely Fair and Honor- 
able to Squander Stockholders' For- 
tunes in the making of celluloid 
Sweet-Nothings or Photo-Foolish- 
ness and then Entice Millions of 
Earnest people over all the World 
to Waste millions of hours and Mil- 
lions of dollars to have them flashed 
in their eyes. What we need are 
Fine Ideas Dramatized so Impres- 
sively that they Mend and Build and 
Glorify Life! 

CHAPTER IX 

The Big Idea 

technique as interpreter; the purpose of 
art and photodramaj eternal coddling: 
visualized emotion; popular psychol- 
ogy; thematic requirements; impres- 
sionism ; what is a big idea ; endurance. 

WE now pass from the realm of theory 
and discussion to that of the art and 
the processes of Photoplay Building which we 
shall call Technique. We have discussed more 
or less thoroughly Why we do it at all. Now 
we enter upon a concrete exposition of What 
it is we do. Both of these steps are essential 

91 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

before we essay the final step in the process, 
How it is actually done. In the first step we 
are introduced to the materials ; in the present 
step we learn the methods; and finally we 
combine the two in the practical operation. 

Our Technique begins with the idea itself, 
and the idea begins with its two-fold relation 
to Drama and Audience. 

It is quite possible to screen one mile of film 
without presenting a single thought, whole or 
in fragments, that is worth while; just as it 
is possible for certain people to babble an 
hour without saying anything! But Art, and 
its handmaid the Photodrama, are too sacred 
and fine mediums for the mere exploitation 
of vacuity and trash. Leave that kind of pish 
and patter to the Varieties and the gossips. 

What is an idea? For our purposes, we 
may assume that it is something more than 
a single thought, a fleeting impression, a ger- 
minal concept or a passing whim. A Dra- 
matic Idea is a very definite conception — 
either of the author, or of a small group, or 
of practically the whole of humanity. 

(EXAMPLE 55.) Behind "The Four Horsemen 
of the Apocalypse" is Blasco Ibanez's masterful idea 
of German character. All through "Out of the Fog" 
we see the bitter evolution of characters upon which 
the fierce lonely tides have beaten for many years. 

92 



THE BIG IDEA 

In "The Birth of a Nation" we are given at least 
the South' s idea of the period of Reconstruction. 
In "Civilisation" we see in a spectacular drama the 
common conception of Civilisation. 

Taking next an idea in its relation to 

Photodrama, we shall find ourselves sooner 
or later facing a huge undertaking, particu- 
larly in respect to the Feature Photoplay. As 
it is expressively put in the provinces, we 
must have a "humdinger" of an idea. Our 
first consideration is the endurance of the 
idea. Will it stretch out over the tremendous 
expanse of one mile of film, throughout the 
entire story-life of our chief character? Can 
it move throughout on its own axis? Has it 
sufficient suspense to bridge over every gap? 
Is it rich enough to go its course without bor- 
rowing from outsiders? Is it comely enough 
to need neither padding nor major opera- 
tions? Can it meet these requirements? It 
must endure to the very end of the footage — 
not hang on, but stride ahead, carrying every- 
thing and everybody zvith it. 

(EXAMPLE 56.) A single incident, though it 
be of the noblest and most dramatic material, may 
be all right for a Short Play. It may have the in- 
gredient for a Feature Photoplay. But the Big 
Idea must be full-sized, if it is to be the ground 
work of a full-length play — that is not merely 
"strung out." 

93 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Finally, we have the psychology of popular 
interest to consider. There always has been, 
and probably always will be a tendency on the 
part of timid and canny producers to coddle 
the public, under the impression that the gen- 
eral public fears Ideas. As a matter of fact, 
the public gets very tired of coddling, and its 
sensations are soon dulled or tickled out. On 
the other hand, the human mind by its very 
nature never tires of entertainment. The 
artist can make any idea entertaining, and 
drama must be entertaining. That is one of 
its prerequisites. The formula therefore is 
not to make the ideas fearful. 

(EXAMPLE 57.) What idea, per se, could be 
more fearful than "Intolerance?" What thesis 
could be heavier than "Civilization?" What sermon 
might be more formidable than "Experience?" What 
history could be more intolerable to the Northern 
mind than the Reconstruction depicted in "The Birth 
of a Nation?" What depiction of horror could tran- 
scend "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?" Here are the 
very heaviest ideas possible, yet the public liked 
them because they were substantial; and they are 
numbered among the greatest commercial successes 
— because they were made entertaining. 

Many producers are like many writers, 
they want to — or lack the potentiality to do 
otherwise — put little or nothing in their 
plays and take everything out of them. 

94 



THE BIG IDEA 

Give the public what it wants, is a familiar 
slogan. The public wants entertainment. 
Conform to that want and you can give them 
anything! 

(EXAMPLE 58.) Half the melodramas are sheer 
sermons, most of them having the same text: If you 
would please God, keep in the straight and narrow 
path. And we see virtue rewarded and vice punished 
in a like manner with the ancient "Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress." Could anything be more serious or more 
beautiful, more religious or more philosophic in 
idea, than "From the Manger to the Cross?" Could 
the miracle, legend, and saint idea of the Catholic 
Church be more strongly presented than in "Joan of 
Arc?" All were interesting because they were en- 
tertaining, and entertaining in these cases because 
they were presented through the technique of the 
theatre and not through the ritual of the Church. 

Therefore the dramatist must know what is 
in the public's heart. Knowing what is in 
its heart, he is on the royal road to its mind, 
where he will find a free market for all the 
worth-while ideas he can create. It lies 
heavy upon his and his collaborators' shoul- 
ders to make his ideas righteous, just, whole- 
some, and sane. 



95 



DRAMA S CONVERGING LINES 

The Alluring Continuity of the 
Photoplay Plot emanates from its 
Unceasing Struggle with that Agen- 
cy which is ever trying to put a Sud- 
den End to its Existence; namely, 
The Counterplot. 

CHAPTER X 

Plot and Counterplot 

definition; materials; sources; problem 
of originality; what is counterplot; 
differentiation ; germ, fragment, and 
complete plot. 

HAVING become convinced that the foun- 
dations of our future plots must be Big 
Ideas, we may proceed intelligibly to those 
processes of constructing the Plot Super- 
structure. 

In the plot, the author lays a plan to rep- 
resent the Big Idea in the smallest dimen- 
sions; so that the largest number of people 
will comprehend it, and by the means of an 
alluring series of inter-related incidents that 
cannot be dispensed with until the Cause of 
their beginning has evolved and solved their 
ending satisfactorily. 

Plot involves the simple requisite that we 
stick to the same idea we start with, until we 

96 



PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 

have brought it to a satisfactory solution and 
conclusion. 

(EXAMPLE 59-) The idea behind "Dr. Jekyll 
and Mr. Hyde" was to show, no doubt, the terrible 
consequences of trying to peer too brazenly into the 
mind of God, seeking the causes of Good and Evil. 
We should n\ot have been satisfied until we saw 
what was the final result, when this idea was once 
launched on its plot career. 

An idea for a story, then, is not a plot, but 
a mere concept for one. A plot is never a 
statement, a fragment, a germ, one side of an 
argument, a slipshod opinion, a careless guess, 
a possibility. A plot is a fight to the finish 
every time; it is the finished plan of a perfect 
structure; it is the whole argument visualized 
and terminated; it is the disease the germ 
started, that overcomes the victim or is over- 
come by him ; it is a positive solution ; the au- 
dience and the characters may guess about 
their destiny, but the author, like the great 
Creator, knows the destiny of his creatures 
before his idea takes flesh. 

Therefore it behooves the writer in every 
case to make sure that his plot is complete, 
that he finishes what his idea sets out to do.* 

* A more or less complete study of the plot, its sources, 
methods for filing material, its operations, and its potential- 
ities and values, may be found in the two works by the 
author of this volume, "The Plot of the Short Story" and 
"The Universal Plot Catalog." 

97 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 60.) Let us select an Idea at this 
point, which we shall endeavor to develop into a full- 
fledged Photoplay. Let us assume that true nobility 
of soul can never be vanquished! But here we have 
only the mere statement of a fact-of-mouth which 
proves nothing. We demand deeds in this dramatic, 
struggling life of ours! 

A plot, after all is said and done, is just a 
human syllogism. We say — or the Hero or 
Heroine through a certain positive act or 
word or deed says as much in the very begin- 
ning — "This is so!" No sooner has this posi- 
tive assertion been made than Obstacles ap- 
pear — the Villain, Fate, Circumstances, other 
Characters in the play — and set forth with 
equal vigor and positiveness a contrary state- 
ment ; the very opposite, they maintain, is, 
must, and shall be so! A clash becomes in- 
evitable. The Obstacles stand firmly in our 
Hero's — or in the Theme Play, the good 
Cause's — path, and the outcome of the con- 
test is in doubt until the very end. We con- 
tinue with our syllogism: Now if this is so 
(meaning what our Hero has said) ; and this 
is so (meaning what the Obstacles maintain) 
and a contest ensues; — therefore this (mean- 
ing a Struggle for Supremacy for the out- 
come) must be so! 

98 



PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 

(EXAMPLE 61.) Continuing with our Photoplay 
idea: As a symbol for Nobility we shall choose a 
Hero-character as protagonist. Nobility is simple, 
sincere, ardent, upright, and unswerving. We shall 
make our character likewise. We shall call him 
Peter. We shall have him pledge himself to some 
noble Purpose from which nothing can dissuade him. 
We must then raise up a Villain to try to confound 
him, we must place him amidst circumstances where 
his purpose seems impossible of carrying out. 

No matter how complex the plot may be, 
the steps are always the same, and exceedingly 
simple : 

(1) Sequence — wherein, in the Beginning, 
protagonist and antagonists set out deter- 
minedly to follow up their avowed purposes; 

(2) Consequence — wherein, in the Middle of 
the play, the protagonist carries forward an 
offensive warfare against his antagonists, 
with his victory hoped-for but ever in doubt; 

(3) Solution — wherein, in Climax and Con- 
clusion, the protagonist emerges the con- 
queror. 

Our problem today, tomorrow, and indeed 
for all future time, will be that of Novelty, of 
Originality. We do not mean that our author 
shall conceive new basic ideas; that is left to 
the province of scientist and philosopher. 
We do mean, however, that our author must 
provide something original, novel, or new in 

99 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

opening, development, ending, treatment, 
combinations of material, viewpoint, type, 
from one or other of the old ideas. What an 
infinite opportunity ! For there are as many 
plot-possibilities as there are human beings, 
and each may and should be as different one 
from the other. The requirements are few : 
the finished story and play must be entertain- 
ing, human, natural, emotional, logical, bal- 
anced, appealing, and gratifying. 

(EXAMPLE 62.) Forty-nine stories out of fifty 
are love stories, built upon the world-old plot-idea 
that one person is loved by two of the opposite sex. 
This is made clear early in the story. It is indi- 
cated likewise, that one is more worthy; at least, 
one is made to become the audience's preference, 
and the author is thus bound to fulfill promised 
hopes. There may be other details, but the love 
motive underlies the main action. The quality of 
those other details decides its claims to originality. 

Now we arrive at an essential point of dif- 
ferentiation wherein the Photoplay departs 
radically in nature and construction from that 
of all other forms of creative writing. Well- 
balanced fiction languishes on Counterplot. 
The Photoplay thrives on Counterplot 

(EXAMPLE 63.) The Short Story drives toward 
its Conclusion with clean, rapid strokes, losing 

100 



PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 

power with every digression. The Novel moves 
more leisurely, culminating suspense by means of 
lengthy units which we call Chapters. The Stage 
Play accomplishes its dramatic effectiveness by 
means of the Act, with still less complication and 
shift of scene. 

Without Counterplot, Plot becomes inert 
and static on the screen. It is surprising how 
often this is the case in expert hands, where 
we witness multitudinous scenic pictures that 
may be distantly related to the story in hand 
but do not advance it toward its espoused end 
in any degree. 

After all, Counterplot is a subsidiary to the 
Main Plot, and both together form the Com- 
plete Plot. The Main Plot comprises the 
main action, or the dramatically interrupted 
course of the Hero. The Counterplot com- 
prises the several courses of the minor charac- 
ters, including their interference with the 
career of the Hero. 

When the main line of plot action and a 
subsidiary line of plot action clash together, 
we have a Situation. The vitality of a Photo- 
play depends on the number, brilliance, and 
novelty of its situations. Mere action in the 
plot is undramatic. Reaction, which always 
follows a good situation, is the vefy soul of 
drama. 

101 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 64.) In the action of our Hero's 
setting out to undertake a certain journey though 
it take him through places of unexampled scenic 
splendor, there is nothing dramatic about that. But 
the instant the Villain, or Obstacle, crosses his path 
we have a dramatic situation. Immediately there is 
reaction, or recoil, in both characters that brings 
fire to the story. 

It is the incessant interweaving of Counter- 
plot with the Main Plot, then, that keeps the 
Photoplay vibrant with that tensity that must 
permeate skillfully constructed Photodrama. 



102 



Drama is Born of Contrast; it 
thrives from Contrast; and it Ceases 
to be when it has Neutralised all 
Contrast through the Climax. 

CHAPTER XI 

Drama's Converging Lines 

contrast; in terms of emotion; emotion 
versus feeling; conflict, struggle, con- 
quest; dramatic unities; the dramatic 
sense; the dramatic opportunity; the 
diagram; the ever tightening lines. 

CONTRAST is the salt of life; it is the 
most prolific source of human interest. 
Contrast taps the wellsprings of curiosity, 
wonder, amazement, surprise, incredulity; 
amusement; passion, anger, hatred; admira- 
tion, adoration, love; pity, pathos, and sub- 
limity. In art they call it light and shade, or 
chiaroscuro. 

Just so in Drama. If the incidents, the 
characters and the settings are all alike, there 
will be no conflict, no differences ; no contrast, 
no drama. We even cannot imagine drama 
without contrast, foil, contrariety, opposite- 
ness, contradiction, and antagonism. 

103 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 65.) Sin makes virtue the sweeter; 
sorrow makes a virtue of happiness; instead of 
deadly normality, health becomes a treasure because 
of disease; beauty would become as common as 
mere flesh if some of us were not ugly; youth would 
not be the Golden Days if age never came; man's 
existence would lose more than half its savor with- 
out woman! 

Drama does not functioni*fe, however, un- 
til two opposites are brought into active jux- 
taposition. And there lies eternal hope for 
the dramatist in the potential fact that for 
everything in life that represents the Hero, 
the force for good, the thing worth while, 
there is an opposing force somewhere that 
may appear in opposition any time. A large 
part of the dramatist's work is successfully to 
marshal contrasting elements in such a man- 
ner that they will brilliantly give battle, dis- 
playing original, important and powerful tac- 
tics. 

(EXAMPLE 66.) Our plot begins with a con- 
trast in that the Hero is seeking something he has 
not got, and he contrasts his lack of happiness in 
not gratifying his desire with the happiness he 
would surely enjoy if he could realize it. It becomes 
more interesting by making the Heroine rich and 
the Hero poor. The Hero is good, the Villain bad. 
The real Heroine is plain, the tempting Adventuress 
is beautiful. We reveal the Heroine's true heart 

104 



DRAMA S CONVERGING LINES 



by having her do charitable deeds among the squalid 
poor. On one floor of the tenement she finds a 
merry beer party in session, on the next a young 
woman dying. A child in the arid street picks up a 
rose she drops. She passes another thin, poverty- 
stricken child looking hungrily into a baker's win- 
dow. And so on. Each incident strikes fire in the 
breast of the normal human audience. 

Incipient Drama then lies in Contrast. We 
want to bear in mind, however, that too sharp 
demarcations make for Melodrama and in- 
artistic work. 

But Contrast is not the whole of Drama. 
Contrast is the most effective source of mo- 
tivation only. It is the science of skillfully 
selecting and setting in array against each 
other human elements whose simultaneous 
presence inevitably brings about a conflict— of 
opinions, of ideas, of belief, of environment, 
of understanding, of ambition, of hope or 
fear, of physical force. 

And note that we deem physical conflict 
the last resort of Drama. Nor must Drama 
always have its source and being in Spectacle 
amidst wealth and luxury and power. 

(EXAMPLE 67.) Breaking the heart of a beg- 
gar is of greater moment dramatically than wreck- 
ing the car of an emperor. No matter how big the 
dynamic catastrophe nor hozv great the rank of the 

105 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

character involved, it never can be more than a mere 
contributor or suspense-motor for something dra- 
matic. 

We are concerned dramatically only with 
hearts, souls, happiness, regenerations, change 
of character through struggle. We deal with 
things in the main that no one in the audience 
could put his finger on, intangible things. 
We all together see, fight, and live causes, 
struggles, and effects. Be it an emperor, a 
capitalist, or a general, if he is not the Hero 
of our great hour of Dramatic Struggle, he is 
nothing to us. Our Hero, and his fortunes, 
are king and empire, all that matters, all that 
interests and enthralls us until his conflict is 
over. Such must Drama be. 

Drama becomes futile if we the authors, 
and they the audience, do not feel. There- 
fore drama must speak in terms of emotion. 

We must carry our audience beyond the 
bounds of mere interest, we must elicit 
emotional interest. The passion, the anguish, 
the hope and fears, the desires and the doubts, 
of our Hero, must become the emotional ex- 
perience of the audience. The drama must 
first be interesting, then appealing — implying 
emotional presentation, which is the secret 
spring of all true dramatic action. It is pos- 
sible that a play may be very emotional in and 

106 



DRAMA S CONVERGING LINES 

of itself. The question is, Does it produce 
reactive emotion, or feeling, within the breast 
of its audiences? 

Now that we know something about what 
material is dramatic, we might be puzzled in 
knowing where to get such material and how 
to recognize dramatic material when we see 
it in the rough. Throughout our quest for 
material we must bear in mind that the coun- 
tersign is Contrast in some form or another. 

(EXAMPLE 68.) The sudden knowledge of that 
which is extraordinary will strike dramatic sparks. 
But this is because the extraordinary stands out in 
sharp contrast to our ordinary every-day experience. 
Nobility rouses our dramatic sense always if we are 
human. This is because nobility is rare in contrast 
to the common acts of the common herd. Pathos 
is another gateway to Drama. The pathetic and the 
pitiable appeal because they are in direct contrast 
with our own happy or unconcerned state of mind 
and body. And yet if we were under the same ill star 
as that which was demanding general pathos, there 
would be no contrast, and consequently it would be 
tragic, but not dramatic to us. 

Because of the world's infinite diversity, it 
teems with Drama. In smaller things at 
least each man and woman is in contrast to 
his and her fellow. Humanity is perverse, 
and our friends and intimates surprise us in 
some particular almost daily. We surprise 

107 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ourselves now and then, and one period of 
our life is always a surprise to another, just 
as one generation is to another. Diversity, 
variety, contrast, interest — if human, per- 
sonal and emotional, they beget drama. 

(EXAMPLE 69.) The news sheets of the day 

are filled in the main zvith the paradoxes of human 
events, the things which contrast with commonplace 
and so become interesting to the normal population. 
It is requisite that the extraordinary be Novel if it 
is to become contributive dramatic material. It is 
extraordinary that a man will kill, rob, or betray, 
but if he commits these crimes in the ordinary way, 
it is only of passing interest to the multitude. Crime 
is still more common in Drama than in Life and, 
like most other things in Life, if it is too obvious, 
our interest palls. 

Dramatic material, then, must contain con- 
trast intensively in certain well-defined par- 
ticulars. News, although a record of events 
in contrast to the humdrum experience of the 
majority, is not essentially dramatic. It al- 
most always contains some dramatic tidbits, 
however. Most news is parochial and nar- 
row ; it appeases the curiosity of a town, a 
county, a city, or a country. Dramatic news 
is catholic; it must appeal to the heart of 
humanity, and for that reason its language is 
of the emotions, which is a universal tongue. 

108 



drama's converging lines 

It is further demanded of dramatic material 
that it be Novel. 

(EXAMPLE 70.) All murderers murder. Rob- 
bers rob, forgers commit forgeries, lovers love, and 
soldiers fight. All of which is quite obvious. Kings 
rule, subjects obey. To be interesting, any of them 
must functionize in a contrary way. So must the 
dramatist be original. 

Art abhors mediocrity; it bestows laurels 
on the genius. The genius is he who does 
ordinary things in an extraordinary manner. 
Geniuses are the contrasts to ordinary tal- 
ented persons. 

Dramatic material must be common to the 
emotional being of all men, but rare as an 
actual experience to the few. It may be that 
which is only desired, or that which is 
dreamed, or that which is abhorred. 

(EXAMPLE 71.) Let us scan the newspaper in 
search of some dramatic fragment: "The War 
Seen by a Poet" — could there be greater antithesis, 
than War and Poetry? "Innkeeper's Child Is Now 
a Peeress" — peers and innkeepers as a class are 
usually at the opposite swing of the pendulum. 
"Mollie Fancher, 50 Years in Bed, Dies" — how con- 
trary to common experience of a night spent in bed, 
to find one spending a lifetime there! "Higher 
Wages and Unhappiness" — our interest is aroused 
at this seeming paradox. "Mrs. Blank Ordzin a 

109 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Mulatto, Relative Says" — here is a case where white 
is called black! "Bishop's Old Home Crime-Scene" 
— virtue and vice are dramatically linked together! 

Writers must constantly cultivate the dra- 
matic sense. The dramatic sense is the fac- 
ulty of discerning the paradoxes and the an- 
titheses of human experience and translating 
them into units of conflict. It is the work of 
the dramatist so to organize this conflict that 
it becomes a single supreme struggle that pen- 
etrates and elicits the emotional understand- 
ing of the audience. 

(EXAMPLE 72.) Let us reiterate that it is not 
the pompous coronation of an emperor that is 
dramatic. Here is no drama, no antithesis. It is a 
matter of course that emperors are crowned amidst 
pomp. The royal deed of a cobbler — humble in 
state but the deed crowned tvith majesty! Not the 
mere doings of men, but the fine deeds of humanity 
are what we seek; not the daily run of things, but 
the exceptions that prove the rule; the occasional 
ylimpcs of the inside of man as he reveals it on the 
outside in moments of passionate intensity. 

Drama demands that the dramatist face and 
fight out issues, and never that he avoid them. 
In the issue through conflict lies our opportu- 
nity. The more impossible the issue seems of 
solution, the more intense the conflict and the 
greater the credit earned by the dramatist. 

110 



DRAMA S CONVERGING LINES 

(EXAMPLE 73.) It is a temptation for the writer 
to get his characters into the most difficult "scrapes/' 
As in life, it is easy to get in trouble, but a serious 
problem to get out of it, gracefully at least. Readers 
and audiences are frequently trailed through a boring 
quantity of details and causes leading up to a splen- 
did and seemingly baffling complication. The audi- 
ence sits back prepared for a treat. There appears 
on the screen a caption to the effect: "After the i 
Battle Was Over Desmond Emerged the Victor." No 
battle was shozvn. It was the kernel of the story. 
The writer has side-stepped the real issue. 

The so-called Dramatic Unities of Time, 
Place, and Action are almost thrown to the 
winds by the Photodrama. To construct a 
Photodrama so that it may be enacted as 
nearly as possible within a single stretch of 
time,, within the limits of a single place and 
confined to a single action, is to follow a 
naturalistic method that may intensify real- 
ism, while it is of little or no help in estab- 
lishing conviction. Photodrama thrives on 
multiplicity. However, it has established 
unities of its own that must be observed. 

(EXAMPLE 74.) In order to permit the mechani- 
cal progression of the Photoplay we are compelled to 
change the scene constantly — every few seconds. Our 
chief character may be in New York; we may see 
the villain leaving India, motivated by an oath to kill 
him for robbing an idol. His mother may be taken 

111 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ill in Vermont, whither he must go. The heroine 
needs him at the same instant, having been taken 
prisoner by bandits in Mexico. We return to the 
villain again, now in mid-ocean aboard a steamer, 
learning from a passenger just where to locate the 
hero. And so on. Months or a year may elapse. 

Our scenes may be scattered over the earth. 
Our episodes may interpolate events that hap- 
pened before the birth of the hero and show 
him at many ages taking an active part. 
Nevertheless, we must have a single action by 
knitting and welding the whole together. 
There is but a single story to tell : That is 
the story of the Hero — or the Theme — doing 
in the end what it sets out to do in the begin- 
ning. Here we operate the law of the Plot, 
and demand that everything must agree with 
our purpose and be essential to its being, or 
be eliminated. After all, this is but dramatic 
promise and its fulfillment. Drama requires 
a balanced account. 

(EXAMPLE 75.) In "Just a Song at Twilight" 
the action is contemporaneous. Our theme is regen- 
eration through reminiscence. In order that the 
young people may be forgiven and accomplish what 
they set out to do — which is to be married — the err- 
ing father must hear the old song at twilight that 
his sweetheart used to sing to him thirty years be- 
fore. He is lulled to sleep with the old life at the 

112 



DRAMA S CONVERGING LINES 

threshold of his consciousness and relives the old 
life in a dream. He then realizes, as he stands by 
in the guise of his own spirit seeing his acts in their 
true light, what a great wrong he has done many 
people, particularly the man whose son is now seek- 
ing his daughter in marriage. The last reel of the 
play deals with the father's atonement and repara- 
tion of the wrongs he has committed. Thus in Reel 
One the action takes place in one location. In Reel 
Tivo we go back thirty years. In Reel Three and 
Reel Four each, there is a lapse of five years; and 
in Reel Five we advance the action again to the 
present time. Practically two sets of characters take 
part. In this play our plan is more to accomplish the 
purpose of the Theme than that of the chief Char- 
acter. So even the old-time Unity of Character 
is violated. 

We now arrive at a very important process, 
the mastery of which on the part of the 
student will enable him to construct a drama 
— providing he already has a plot — with little 
or no difficulty. 

The first step is to draw an equilateral 
triangle. Then from the base to the apex 
draw a straight line. 

We now have a diagram of all dramatic 
energy and action. The base line represents 
the Beginning of our plot or story. The Apex 
represents the Conclusion or End. The line 
in the center from base to apex, represents the 
line of Thematic or Heroic Purpose. It is the 

113 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

purpose of the theme or the chief character to 
go from the base line, or Cause, straight to 
the apex, or avowed Goal of his purpose. 

We may observe that from the instant the 
two side lines — which shall represent the outer 
bounds of story Action — start moving toward 
the apex they begin drazving closer together. 



(EXAMPLE 76.) 



'OncKtsion 
or 

Lnd 







\ 






\& 






§ T 


■// 





8" \ 


**/ 





ft >, 


■w 


3 


•2 \* 


&y 


g 


3 V 


°zL 




j \ 



or 

114 



drama's converging lines 

Likewise in every aspect of their progress 
they exert surficial pressure and resistance 
upon the central line of action. Every instant 
sees them all nearing the apex of Solution. 
We take especial note of the obvious fact that 
these lines are doomed to coalesce and can 
never be parallel. We note that when the 
three angles of the triangle are placed to- 
gether, they are mathematically complete and 
structurally perfect. 

So in Drama. The hero sets out to reach 
his goal, but pressure from the side lines 
hampers his progress at every step. The 
pressure increases as he nears the apex, near 
where it is so great that something must break 
in order that he may reach his goal. As the 
moment of the inevitable Big Collision ap- 
proaches, our suspense increases. We call 
the Collision the Climax. We obtain Sus- 
pense automatically by drawing the converg- 
ing lines tighter. The apex reached, the Hero 
must go outside the story triangle in order to 
continue. The Hero is satisfied, and the audi- 
ence must feel gratified. That is the whole of 
Drama. 

In other chapters to follow, we shall fur- 
ther illustrate the mechanics of the dramatic 
principle. 

115 



Contrast is the basis of all Conflict, 
therefore Contrast is the Right 
Wing of Motivation; Desire is the 
Left Wing. With these two Pin- 
ions engrafted in its tissue, the body 
of a Plot is bound to Soar in Flight. 

CHAPTER XII 

Life-Giving Motivation 

planting motivation; contrast again j 
the part of interest; organism vs. or- 
ganization j the snappy beginning; the 
effect of counterplot; action and 
movement; reason for things; happen- 
ings; compression; deeds; the lead mo- 
tivates; expectation; idea in action; 

APPEAL TO SENSATIONS; ACTION AND REAC- 
TION. 

IN Drama, actions are considered more or 
less as accidents. In Photodrama, they take 
on added significance because of the mechani- 
cal necessity of practically all phenomena 
being visualised in substance and motion. 

The real incidents and bulwarks of Drama 
are deeds. A deed is the spiritual core, the 
mainspring, of possibly a thousand-and-one 
consequent actions. All deeds have dramatic 

116 



LIFE-GIVING MOTIVATION 

significance, not because they set loose a 
swarm of actions, but because they vitally 
concern the spiritual and emotional life of 
humanity. 

(EXAMPLE 77.) In our proposed story, which 
we shall tentatively call "Peter the Great," there 
would be no Drama and therefore no story, if Peter 
went along his way quietly fiddling among the coun- 
. try folk. That he loved his sister better than any- 
thing else in the world, though he secretly desired a 
musical career, with all the action that accompanies 
both, is scarcely interesting. But let a dastardly deed 
be committed, like the betrayal of his little sister, 
incidentally jeopardizing his career, and the quiet 
scene is instantly galvanized into Drama. 

In Photodrama, then, we endeavor to plant 
as early as possible, not only a reason for the 
idea's dramatic existence, but also engines of 
dramatic power sufficient to propel it through 
a seething sea of action to the desired port. 
There is a reason in God's Plot for the exist- 
ence of every man, woman and child in 
creation. There must be a very high-powered 
reason indeed for the exploitation of one 
character among a million human beings in a 
single dramatic creation. 

Our first ingredient of motivation is the in- 
troduction of a strong heroic Character, or 
theme, in whom is implanted a desire, or Pur- 

117 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

pose, as powerful as — or even more so than — 
the Character or Theme themselves. Of great- 
er motor merit, however, are the Contrasts 
that are introduced at an early moment and 
during successive intervals thereafter, that 
cause opposition to the desire or Purpose, that 
promote Conflict, that induce Suspense, and 
sustain Character through Struggle. 

(EXAMPLE 78.) Thus in our photoplay of 
Peter: Peter's desire to attain fame through a musi- 
cal career is opposed by the villain's betrayal of his 
little sister. Peter enters into conflict with the 
villain, and suspense follows naturally as we await 
in doubt the outcome. Peter's character is more 
than sustained throughout. 

We come upon our old acquaintances, 
Counterplot and Contrast, in a new guise 
which, in relation to motivation, we shall call 
Re-action. Desire leads to a resolution, reso- 
lution to the deed, deeds to reaction. A great 
desire — such as the hero of a story should 
manifest at the outset — indicates a store of 
leashed energy. At once we attract the audi- 
ence's interest by rousing a counter desire to 
follow the Hero to the gratification of his 
desire. Thus we have a double motive — one a 
reason for beginning the story, and the other 
a released energy that is bound to continue it 
to its desired end. 

118 



LIFE-GIVING MOTIVATION 

There are three grades of activity in a 
Photoplay, that should be differentiated if the 
dramatist would be sure in his touch: (1) 
Motion, which is the mere phenomena of 
"breathing" nature (such as blowing leaves, 
people outside of the play passing, smoke ris- 
ing) ; (2) Action, which is the specific activ- 
ity that interprets the thought, the emotions, 
and the spirit of the play (such as laughter, 
tears, gestures, sighs) ; (3) Movement, which 
is the progressive Plot undercurrent, the 
spirit and idea and message of the play it- 
self. There must be motivation generated to 
carry all these along progressively. 

Photodrama is a clash of Ideas, to be sure, 
but what we must see are men and women 
struggling for those Ideas. 

The Plot takes care of motivation in see- 
ing to it that everything that is done is the 
result of a logical and sufficient cause. Fur- 
thermore, all dramatic results continue to be 
causes for further effects until the last result 
of the whole of it — the Conclusion itself — 
has been reached. 

(EXAMPLE 79.) In the case of "Peter the 
Great," it is Peter's secret desire to become a master 
of music that results in each thwarting step's becom- 
ing more and more dramatic. The betrayal of his 
little sister is a result of this Cause. But this leads 

119 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

to Peter's having to spend his little hoard that meant 
his trip to Paris, to save his sister's betrayer front 
prison to save her life. Releasing him from prison 
was the cause of all his further reappearances on' 
the scene, bringing misery with him. 

Even the audience has its share in the suc- 
cessful motivation of a Photoplay. This 
means that the desires and apprehensions of 
the leading character must be implanted and 
duplicated in the heart and mind of the audi- 
ence so that it puts itself unequivocally in the 
hero's place. Its interest forms a roller- 
bearing of motivation. We now arrive 
abreast of one of the laws of good dramatic 
composition, which is, that the Lead must mo- 
tivate. In other words, the Hero or Heroine 
must seek at any and all odds to attain his or 
her desire, and all that follows is the result 
or reaction from this great Cause. Unless it 
be in Tragedy, the hero or heroine must never 
fail. Only one can win — the one who has 
been given the Lead. 

Creating expectation is a prime requisite of 
interest, but all expectation thus aroused by 
the dramatist must be fulfilled by the drama- 
tist. Wherein we have a simple line of moti- 
vation for all writers to follow. In Life we 
expect great things of our Heroes and follow 
their careers with engrossing interest. In 

120 



LIFE-GIVING MOTIVATION 

Drama we must create Heroes of whom the 
audiences shall expect great things, and then 
justify this expectation by so motivating the 
Hero's career that it will be followed with 
breathless interest. The greater his struggles, 
the greater the interest. 

Drama and Photodrama differ from static 
Fine Art in that the finished product is not 
fixed and immobile. Drama — unlike Paint- 
ing, Sculpture, and Architecture — can be ap- 
prehended only by progressive units in which 
the beholder must follow, move, and live, the 
essence of the play. While static Art is a 
fine organization of selected materials, Drama 
and the Photodrama are intensive organisms 
of progressive life. 

Motive is an Idea in action, a logical Cause 
working toward an inevitable Effect. Ideas 
are worthless in Drama and Photodrama un- 
less visualized in the stress of demonstration. 
Philosophy treats of the nature and beginning 
of ideas ; Drama reveals their motivation and 
end. 



121 



In no case is Drama Constructed of 
Independent Incidents; it is built up 
of Events not only closely, but 
Progressively and Cumulatively, Re- 
lated by Tics of Blood and Bone; 
what happens to one Member affects 
the Fate of All; that which follows 
after is always one of the Children 
of that which goes before, and they 
all bear the same name — Conse- 
quence. 

CHAPTER XIII 

Sequence, Suspense and Consequence 

producing in sequence; the surprise j 
chronological and logical sequence j 
the snappy beginning; counter plot; 
inevitable consequence; interest; the 
obstacle; suspense breeders; the line 
OF LEAST resistance. 

DRAMA consists simply in the sowing 
and the reaping of events in an interest- 
ing span of life, interspersed with periods of 
anxious waiting — which we call suspense — 
and wondering whether things will turn out 
well or ill. It is "just one darn thing after 
another" — with the accent on the "darn." 

122 



SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE, CONSEQUENCE 

There are three kinds of sequence, a thor- 
ough understanding of which is essential in 
dramatic construction. 

(1) The commonest form is Chronological 
Sequence. This is the simple arrangement of 
events in the order in which they happen. 
There need be no particular relationship be- 
tween the happenings, there may be little sig- 
nificance to the happenings, which scarcely 
warrant the name of "events." The one law 
that governs them is that they be arranged 
successively, according to time. Because of 
the multitude of mere chronological happen- 
ings and their humdrumness, they should be 
taken sparingly and in small doses by the 
dramatist. 

(2) Next we have the Logical Sequence. 
Herein we narrow down the common happen- 
ings of life through a process of selection, 
choosing related events and applying the law 
of the syllogism to them. Because this has 
happened, it follows, logically, that that must 
happen ! It is not essential that these events 
happen chronologically at all. We come 
again within the domain of Cause-and-Effect. 
The Cause may happen years before the Ef- 
fect, with a million chronological happenings 
in between. We may not learn of the Cause 
until long after the Effect has become evi- 

123 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

dent. We may project what follows the 
Cause into a chronologically unknown future. 
Instead of Time's being our law, it becomes 
Reason. We are obeying Logic not chance. 
Anything that can happen within reason may 
be called Logical Sequence. 

(3) Dramatic Sequence draws the limits 
many times closer. Dramatic Sequence may 
employ chronological order in point of time 
only, and it must always be in Logical Se- 
quence. In Dramatic Sequence we select a 
single great event and then exclude all other 
incidents and happenings in the whirl of the 
world that can possibly be spared in its cul- 
mination. Dramatic Sequence may amble in 
and out of Chronological Sequence at will. 
This is especially true of Photodramatic Se- 
quence, where our favorite method is to de- 
velop entire dependent Sequences all by them- 
selves, or to portray incidents that are hap- 
pening simultaneously, or to depict thoughts 
in the mind of characters of incidents that 
might happen. All of which are in Dra- 
matic Sequence as long as they promote the 
movement and carry it steadily towards its 
goal. 

(EXAMPLE So.) Chronological order involves 
the infinitesimal and negligible incidents, for in- 

124 



SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE, CONSEQUENCE 

stance, that may befall the actor, like the ringing 
of an alarm clock, rising, dressing, and breakfasting, 
that fill the hours with tedium. When the actor 
learns his part in the play, he excludes all else and is 
obliged to take it up in a Logical Order, or it would 
become hodge-podge. But when the actor becomes 
the Character, then he must become part and parcel 
with the Dramatic Sequence. He steps out of hum- 
drum present-day life into the Sixteenth Century! 
Later he appears among moderns as the ghost of the 
Medieval man he zvas, and finally he passes on into 
the limbo of dead souls. The drama over, he and 
the audience step outside the author's completed 
creation into the dull chronological order of things 
again. 



Constructing chronologically — that is, hav- 
ing dramatic events happen in their natural 
order and shorn of superfluous data, of 
course — is after all the safest, soundest, and 
usually the best way. Then events may hap- 
pen, one after the other, naturally, without 
the subterfuge of explanation or narration 
(having to "tell" the audience how it all came 
about). Narration is foreign to the Photo- 
drama; action is its natural medium. It re- 
quires great skill to go forward and backward 
at the same time ! The Photoplay should pro- 
ceed as nearly as possible as any interesting, 
live mortal would go his way — striding for- 
ward through life's events. 

125 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

If we do not set down incidents in their 
chronological order we shall be obliged to halt 
at a psychological moment, or turn back when 
the blow-up is past, and offer lengthy explan- 
ations for our departure from the straight 
and narrow path. 

(EXAMPLE 81.) We repeat, that Chronological 
Order may be ignored if in going "behind" the 
present time, we may continue to progress. In the 
first place we must make our step backward a neces- 
sity. In the second, it must leave no gap in the in- 
terest of the audience nor start any separate plot or 
story. In "Just a Song at Twilight" the father re- 
fuses the hand of his daughter to the son of his 
traditional enemy. They prepare to elope within 
the hour. It is then that he dreams again his old 
life. Just before he does so, the boy has discovered 
her father's guilt in putting his father into prison. 
He starts back with murder in his heart. In the 
interval of an hour the dream, filling three reels, 
takes place — as dreams do. He finds the old man 
repentant after the dream. The continuity has 
never been interrupted in its forward trend. 

There is a legitimate tendency among 
Photodramatists to open their plays with a 
bang. In other words, they begin the play 
right in the midst of a Situation. While evo- 
lution of a Situation is slower, it should never 
become tedious. The problem to be met by 
those who open up in the midst of fire, is to 

126 



SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE, CONSEQUENCE 

explain how things became so hot and to get 
back to Sequence gracefully. 

EXAMPLE 82.) In "Bonnie Annie Laurie," the 
story opens with Annie finding and rescuing the 
derelict Stranger. The Stranger has lost his mem- 
ory and does not find it again until very near the 
end of the play. Then as it all unfolds to him, how 
he became the Stranger, the audience goes back 
with him two years in his "vision." The play had 
arrived at a point where it could move no farther 
forward until the mystery was solved. 

Too much material and counterplot in- 
volves lengthy introductions and consequent 
lengthy disposals of characters and their acts 
all through the play, involving great danger 
of muddling the sequence to the point of con- 
fusion and turning suspense into impatience. 

(EXAMPLE 83.) Photodrama is built upon pur- 
poses. There is the Great Purpose of the Hero; and 
everybody and everything that is introduced there- 
after have their purpose, which they must do their 
utmost to carry out. Their purpose in the main is 
counter to the Great Purpose of the Hero. All these 
purposes must be skillfully interwoven ; so that the 
plot will not only go forzvard, but go forward rapid- 
ly and smoothly. 

The movement must ever proceed forward 
toward the bitter or pleasant end, each action 
fitting perfectly without showing the joints. 

127 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

In Photodrama, this becomes a fine art be- 
cause of the multiplicity of actions split up 
by Photoplay scene technique. 

Suspense follows a dramatic interruption 
of Sequence. Suspense is simply deferred 
hope of a successful issue mingled with fear 
of an untimely termination of the Sequence. 
Suspense is doubt of the outcome of the 
Struggle of the contending dramatic forces, 
but never assurance one w r ay or the other. 
The moment that doubt enters the dramatic 
doorway, assurance flies out of the window 
and the audience is filled with suspense. The 
Conclusion must remain in intermittent doubt 
to the very end. Therefore, in doubt we have 
our most valuable suspense-motor. 

Suspense is created by the simple means of 
interposing a legitimate Obstacle in the for- 
ward path of the Hero in pursuit of his great 
Purpose. Sometimes the Hero unwittingly 
creates his own Obstacle through an act 
that precipitates an unforeseen complication. 
Again, he may run athwart Counterplot un- 
expectedly. 

(EXAMPLE 84.) In "Bella Bids Herself Good- 
bye," we have a girl giving up her real identity of 
a shop girl and going forth with her savings to be- 
come a real lady, this is the Great Purpose. She 
meets a seeming real lady on the train. There is a 

128 



SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE, CONSEQUENCE 

wreck and Fate gives her the identity of the lady. 
But the "lady" is a notorious crook pursued by the 
police. The audience is implanted with suspense at 
this unforeseen complication. Bella does not dis- 
cover the truth until she has further compromised 
herself. She has unexpectedly run athwart the 
Counterplot. The man she loves proves to be the 
defective! Here seems to be an insuperable Ob- 
stacle. 

We should not try to eliminate the Obstacle 
too hurriedly. The Obstacle is like a trump 
hand in euchre, in which the right bower 
should not be played until every trump has 
been used with telling effect. 

In seeming futility lies the best suspense. 
When it seems as if the Hero's plight renders 
his Purpose inextricable, when his case seems 
hopeless, when peril seems imminent, when 
doom seems unavoidable — then suspense is 
most poignant and effective. Then also is the 
dramatist's task of plausibly extricating him- 
self and his Hero without the trite aid of 
Providence and Fate put to its finest test. 

Suspense will not hold effectively unless 
fostered by relevant contributive material. 
We must hold our audience in suspense for 
what is really to happen until the very last 
minute — then give it what we have made it 
hope for and what has now, through our skill, 
become inevitable. 

129 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 85.) The more common Suspense 
Breeders are: Interest, Sympathy, Expectancy, An- 
ticipation, Hope, Imminence, Change, Surprise, 
Doubt, Disappointment, Fear, Danger, Peril, Crisis, 
Revelation. 

We might call Consequence, Logical Re- 
action. 

(EXAMPLE 86.) We have the old case of the 
syllogism again, with which Drama is ever concerned, 
dramatically. If we do certain things, it follows as 
night the day that certain other things will happen. 
To put one's head in a lion's mouth, to slap a real 
man in the face, to make love to another man's 
wife, to commit a crime — the consequences are logi- 
cally obvious. We draw an invincible character for 
our Hero and set him -forth against seemingly insup- 
erable Obstacles. The Logical Reaction is a Conflict 
worth while going to see — in a Photoplay. 

The Consequence is the reward for good 
deeds and the punishment for misdeeds. If 
dramatic details of character, circumstances, 
and potentiality are well drawn early in the 
play, an intelligent audience will intuitively 
sense consequences afar off from the drift of 
the Sequence, and feel in advance all the de- 
lightful thrills of anticipation. Planting this 
foresight will give an added zest to the popu- 
lar enjoyment of a play that will mark the 
author as a master craftsman. 

130 



SEQUENCE, SUSPENSE, CONSEQUENCE 

(EXAMPLE 87.) Thus we make Peter the Great 
truly great, in mind, body, and spirit, at the start. 
We make clear his invincible love for his little sister 
and his unquenchable desire for a career. On the 
other hand, we draw a villain of great physique, 
capable of unspeakable cruelty and consummate re- 
venge. Then set the villain after the sister and we 
can sense the quality of the consequences long be- 
fore they happen. 

Thus, the first part of our Photoplay — as 
we shall see later — consists of establishing 
Character, winding up the Movement, and 
building Contrasts. The second Part of the 
play sees these" all released and the Conse- 
quence — though not exactly the result — is 
obvious, if the work of Part One has been 
well done. Again the law of Contrast gets 
in its good work. 

(EXAMPLE 88.) Everybody knows that if two 
certain Colonels in Kentucky meet, they will try to 
shoot each other. Just so, must the dramatist make 
his characters and their motives so well known to 
the audience that "everybody" in the audience real- 
izes that something big is going to happen when 
they clash. 

Inconsequential action and movement are 
bound to result in an inconsequential play. 
Audiences expect things to happen all the 
time. If the writer chooses the line of least 

131 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

resistance and avoids happenings, he side- 
steps Drama itself. People in everyday life 
who do not face and fight manfully the con- 
sequences of their deeds and misdeeds, we 
call slackers. They are valueless citizens and 
uninteresting mortals. 

It is not sufficient that we must have a rea- 
son going before every action and movement, 
but that Reaction and Counter-Movement, 
or a Consequence, be inevitable. 

Conflict is the keynote of Drama ; Conse- 
quence is the forerunner of Conflict; Con- 
trast is the source of Consequence. 



132 



The Sentence of Human Existence 
is profusely Comma'd with Coinci- 
dences; it is frequently Punctuated 
with Crises; but it has only One 
grand Period — the Climax of All 
Experience. 

CHAPTER XIV 

Coincidence, Crisis, and Climax 

necessity of cumulative effect j estab- 
LISHING coincidents; crisis incomplete; 

DANGERS OF COINCIDENCE; CRISIS AND SIT- 
UATION; anti-climax; the punch; im- 
portance of climax; harmony; begin- 
ning WITH THE CLIMAX; APPEALING TO 
THE SENSATIONS; PREPARATION FOR THE 
EVENT. 

C COINCIDENCE is a fearful thing when 
_>< misused. If, however, Coincidence is 
correctly apprehended — its vices recognized 
and its virtues realized — it may become one 
of the most valuable devices in the drama- 
tist's whole kit. 

It is the common opinion that Coincidence 
is extremely rare in life. Facts prove the 
contrary is true. If this is so, Coincidence is 
not an unnatural phenomenon. 

133 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(EXAMPLE 89.) The average person encoun- 
ters coincidence daily, surely several times a week. 
We dream at night and get a letter from the person 
the next day. We go to a distant city and meet an 
old friend on the street. We find ourselves ap- 
pointed on a committee with the person we dislike 
most in the world. We find one day the object of 
our charity none other than a woman who once 
looked down on us in her haughty wealth. We pick 
up a newspaper the first time in a month and find 
the death of a dear distant friend among the obitu- 
aries. We forget our umbrella and it rains out of a 
clear sky. 

All works of art are built upon cumulative 
cycles of Rhythmic Coincidence. Things may 
seem to "just happen" naturally to the be- 
holder of finished works of Art, but they are 
always planned with care and artifice by the 
artist in the creating. Nature is not always 
beautiful ; existence is dull more often than it 
is brilliant; life is frequently warped un- 
naturally. But Art always must have an 
intrinsic beauty of design, of form, of both 
organization and organism. The theme may 
be ugly, the character repulsive, the scenes 
sordid and the "lesson" shocking — but the 
whole must be stimulating toward better 
things through its very antithesis. 

Art is man's most noteworthy concrete ex- 
pression of Beauty. And Beauty is a finished 

134 



COINCIDENCE, CRISIS, CLIMAX 

composite of Coincidence. The simpler the 
Beauty, the more frequent the Coincidence. 
Art then, in its simplest terms, is a composi- 
tion of Coincidences so arranged as to pro- 
duce a beautiful effect. 

(EXAMPLE 90.) Perhaps the most beautiful 
piece of architecture in the world is the Parthenon. 
Its appeal lies chiefly in its simplicity of composi- 
tion. And zvherein does the secret of its beauty lief 
Certainly it is not accidental. First of all, there 
are definite standards of classical Beauty. Secondly, 
there is a definite Technique, or law of procedure, 
and a precise measure for materials. So we see in 
the Parthenon four majestic rows of columns sup- 
porting two splendid pediments. Throughout there 
is a Rhythmic repetition of material devices, which 
by themselves may attract no notice, but when ar- 
ranged at proper intervals and contributing to the 
whole effect without ever intruding an effect of 
their own — then we behold a marvelously beautiful 
composition. Thus the Beauty of the columnal 
effect lies in their Coincidental appearance, one after 
the other. So too in the Coincidence of pediment 
and pediment, fluting with fluting, angle with angle, 
line with line, lies the secret of the desired effect. 
And in the Beauty of the human being we set a 
standard in which balance and symmetry of its 
various parts occur coincidentally in the same per- 
son. In painting, Artistic Beauty lies in those 
works containing the greatest measure of coinci- 
dental balance. 

135 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

The chief difference between fiction and 
fact lies in fiction's constant marked conflict 
of coincidences. When life develops a series 
of coincidences we say it is like a story or a 
play! Fiction without constant Coincidence 
scarcely has a leg to stand on, it is aimless and 
little or nothing "happens." Every time a co- 
incidence appears in a story or a play, some- 
thing really and technically happens. 

(EXAMPLE 91.) Take the story of "Madam X" 
and sheer it of Coincidence. It would then be a 
tale of hard facts of a man driving his wife from 
his home because of a misunderstanding. She takes 
to drugs, murders a man, is apprehended, and dies 
in court. That story is common if not commonplace. 
Nozv, bring in your Coincidence and make the judge 
who must sentence the woman her husband, and the 
young lawyer defending her her son, and you have 
one of the most dramatic situations possible. 

For fiction and dramatic purposes we se- 
lect and employ only such material from the 
lives of our characters as will point and en- 
hance the composition in hand. Our story or 
play may teem with "psychological moments," 
and it is to meet their needs that we usher in 
our coincidences. And if you think that any 
reader or audience will be content without a 
Coincidence, you will be disappointed. 

136 



COINCIDENCE, CRISIS, CLIMAX 

(EXAMPLE 92.) The very facts of our Play 
structure are almost universally coincidences. The 
fact that there "just happens" to be one man and 
one woman exactly suited to each other and happily 
meeting within the boundaries of our Play; that the 
circumstances are so interlaced that make for the 
ultimate good of the hero; that our characters are 
so balanced that they are the counterpart of light 
and shade to our composition; that our Crises come 
when they do; that the Reels terminate when they 
do; that the Climax arrives at exactly the right mo- 
ment; — all are coincidental with our Play needs 
and are sources of unending delight to the audience. 

Disaster from the use of Coincidence lies 
in its employment as a last resort "to save 
the day" — like those other crutches, the "will 
of God," Providence, Fate, etc., of the sterile 
writer. All coincidences must be made to 
seem perfectly natural, if not always logical. 
This is accomplished through the simple de- 
vice of "planting" coincidences by the intro- 
duction of advance incidents earlier in the 
story which prepare the way for the more re- 
markable incident, or coincidence, that fol- 
lows. 

(EXAMPLE 93.) Returning to our story of 
"Peter the Great" : First we see Peter putting away 
his little hoard which means everything. It must 
be stolen. We give the villain a "reason" by hav- 
ing him lose his money through gambling. First 
we see the sister pleading with the villainous lover, 

13/ 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

and so are not dumbfounded when the little sister 
flies into his arms zuhen harm threatens him. We 
have seen but not quite understood the sister's^ 
shy, anxious glances and clinging to the villain, 
which are later perfectly explained when it is re- 
vealed that she is about to become a mother. The 
villain becomes a crook, so we are not surprised 
that when in need of a fence he should come for 
the sister, his wife. 

Thus we find that coincidences, to become 
effective, must coalesce, melt, and blend into 
the fiber of the story. They may cause sur- 
prise, but must never astonish. There is no 
limit to what one may do or say, provided it 
has been previously planted. Thus the most 
thrilling events may come to pass as the most 
natural happenings in the world — that is, to 
those people under those circumstances. In 
other words. Coincidence does not have to be 
natural, as far as common experience goes, 
but it must coincide with the prescribed life 
of the play in hand. 

The principle of incident and Coincidence 
is too, the prime source of the Situation, 
which in turn is the forerunner of the Crisis. 
Let us understand that by Situation we mean 
the most potent recurrent factor in Photo- 
drama structure. For in the inceptive mo- 
ment of a scene bristling with Dramatic 
promise of Conflict, we have the Situation. 

138 



COINCIDENCE, CRISIS, CLIMAX 

When the Situation has progressed into ac- 
tual Conflict that demands a turning point, we 
have the Crisis. The Crisis might well be 
called a Little Climax, having special refer- 
ence to the Sequence of action which it brings 
to its highest pitch. 

(EXAMPLE 94.) In "Peter the Great" we intro- 
duce to Peter a persistent friend who will see to 
it that he goes abroad to study. When ambition to 
go is low, we introduce the friend. The friend's 
appearance at the psychological moment makes a 
Situation; Peter's decision to go or not to go, is 
the Crisis. Peter says of his sister, "She is the 
best part of my life — zvhen I go to Paris, she must 
come too." Later, ready to go, he seeks his sister. 
We recall what he said. The villain has taken her 
away. Again, they tell Peter his little sister's life 
hangs on a thread — the thread of the villain's love. 
Coincident with this fact it becomes natural for 
Peter to give up his precious Paris fund to keep the 
villain out of jail, because his sister pleads it. 

The issue of the Crises is ever progressive 
and cumulative, but never final; that ultimate 
decision of the integral conflict is left to the 
Grand Crisis, or Climax. Recurrent Suspense 
begins with the inception of the Situation, 
and rises higher and higher with the prolonga- 
tion of the Crisis, and recedes as the issue 
becomes apparent. There are a multiplicity 
and a cumulativeness in the case of the Crisis ; 

139 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

a singleness and a supremacy in that of the 
Climax. 

Whenever the Theme or the motive of the 
chief Character runs afoul the Counterplot, 
or the motive of one of the subsidiary charac- 
ters, then we have a Situation which pro- 
gresses into a Crisis, works itself out and 
this process is repeated in cycles throughout 
the play until the contributory Crises lead 
to a solution of the main issue in the Climax. 
Whenever any Obstacle impeding the Hero's 
purpose is encountered, a Situation rises and 
a Crisis follows. And any clash of interests 
is an Obstacle. 

We create Crises by dashing hope to the 
ground and supplanting it with doubt that 
gradually grows to hope — but when the Crisis 
is over a new situation rises and hope fades 
to doubt again, and so on to the end of the 
baffling, well-constructed play. 

There may be both Dynamic and Dramatic 
crises. But there is always the old danger 
of the Dynamic, with its rush and roar, off- 
setting purely Dramatic Crises with their 
tense silences. The emotional is always more 
powerful and sustaining than the mechanical. 
Frequently tremendous Dynamic Crises have 
been built up that quite stultified the emo- 
tional Cimax and real issue of the Play. 

140 



COINCIDENCE, CRISIS, CLIMAX 

(EXAMPLE 95.) In "The Birth of a Nation" 
the repeated rush and roar of the Ku Klux Klan 
flattened out all the emotional and finer Crises with- 
in earshot and came dangerously near to making 
the more refined Climax of the play a fizzle. We 
are too unstrung to feel the fineness of a dying 
mother crooning to her babe after being boomed 
through a bloody battle. Thrills shock the soul out 
of tune, just as strident sensations make the sensi- 
tive soul shrink into emotional insignificance. 

As in Crises, so in the Climax, it should be 
Dramatic always, rather than Dynamic. The 
Dynamic calls into play the sensations rather 
than the emotions, which are the true media 
of Dramatic appreciation. 

(EXAMPLE 96.) In "The Barrier" is to be 
found one of the most perfect Climaxes that has 1 
appeared in Photodrama. After a series of personal 
combats that oftentimes threaten to frighten out 
our emotions with thrills, we come to the Big Mo- 
ment, the emotional grandeur of which brings us 
sublimely back to our Dramatic selves. 'Poleon, the 
French Canadian, who has lost the girl whom he 
thought he had won, to the Hero, gets into his canoe 
and sails back to the wilds forever, singing as he 
goes though tears stream down his face and his 
heart is breaking, so that she on shore in the arms 
of the Hero will think he is going away happily. 

The term "punch" has been used much in 
connection with the Photoplay. Putting in 

141 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the punch is equivalent to building up a Cli- 
max that will strike the audience a tremendous 
emotional blow. When we feel a deep emo- 
tion after seeing a play, we may be sure that 
it contains a punch. The punch is simply the 
effective expression of the movement that 
underlies the action. The punch is the force 
behind the Climax. 

The Climax demands that we bring our op- 
posing forces — or what is left of them — out 
into the open, maybe for the first time; and 
in a Dramatic Armageddon they fight to a 
finish and settle forever the question of su- 
premacy for which the Play stands a symbol. 

There can be but one Climax to a given 
Play and it is toward this Grand Crisis that 
every energy and motor in the Play moves 
unswervingly. If there be another Crisis of 
equal moment at the end of the Play it is 
Anti-Climax, and the whole principle of Dra- 
matic Art has been violated in the faulty 
construction. 



142 



Ill 

PRACTISE 



Art does not reveal its Fullness at a 
Glance. It Lures One on and on 
through Impressionistic Paths with 
many Pleasant Turnings, Affording 
Suggestive Glimpses and Veiled Vis- 
tas that do not Pause until the Cli- 
max has been Ascended, and then 
the Way lies Outspread before our 
Vision like an Enchanted Domain 
with All Roads Leading to the Castle 
Splendid. 

CHAPTER XV 

The Value of an Outline 

visualization; art and psychology; co- 
incidence again; mechanical plus 
artistic; impressionism; elements of 
interest; contrast and motivation; be- 
ginning, middle, and end; harmony; 
repetitive effects. 

THE time has come to put our acquired 
knowledge of principles into practise. 
First, however, we must acquaint ourselves 
with the philosophy of practise and just how 
material is altered without changing its na- 
ture. 

145 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

We return emphatically to one of the truths 
touched upon earlier in the discussion, that 
it is not the material nor the methods them- 
selves that are most important, but the Idea 
or the vision of the author, which they seek to 
suggest and visualize. After all, the Play 
and the players are but symbols. Through 
coarser expression we endeavor to reveal the 
Artist's finer impressions. If we can manage 
to make the audience see it through his eyes, 
then we have ensnared the vision splendid. 
Practise, then, is active impressionism. 

Visualization now becomes our keynote. 
Dramatic Visualization means feeling while 
we see. Visualization means, then, not mere- 
ly seeing physical action with the physical 
eye, but through the gift of sympathetic 
vision enriching the world with all the treas- 
ures of brilliant human experience. Visual- 
ization is the power to make deeds of action, 
comrades of characters, experience of a Play 
and Life of Drama. 

All manner of expression is valueless or 
lost except it have climacteric significance. It 
must be an effective medium of story com- 
munication. It must have both mental — or 
conventional — significance, and emotional — or 
personal — significance. 

146 



VALUE OF THE OUTLINE 

(EXAMPLE 97.) The term "Dearest" is insig- 
nificant and meaningless to one foreign to the word. 
But granted its emotional appreciation, it breaks 
the bonds of Convention and creates a bond between 
Lovers. 

We now arrive at the conclusion that all 
Art Appeal is based on: I. Inspired Impres- 
sion; II. Dramatic Expression; III. Emo- 
tional Appreciation. 

Art Appeal is largely a matter of psychol- 
ogy. How are we going to carry our story 
message most effectively, re-inspire our audi- 
ence most poignantly, appeal to their emotions 
most dramatically, convince their minds most 
logically — and preserve our artistic poise un- 
blemished ? Surely whatever means are avail- 
able to our Dramatic end are legitimate, if 
they meet Art standards. 

Our constant friend in time of need — 
which is really from beginning to end — is Co- 
incidence. Coincidence, we repeat, is the 
basic principle of all Art Appeal. 

(EXAMPLE 98.) The full-blown process of the 
operation of Coincidence might be summed up as 
follows: 1. The audience's attention must be at- 
tracted; 2. Follows a sense of recognition as though 
■it had known this phenomenon before; 3. Then 
comes certain identification, Why, of course — etc.; 
4. Now we have its interest clinched; 5. Comes a 
groping question of association; 6. Presto! Found 

147 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

amidst gratification, and Coincidence is established; 

7. Immediately a sense of gracious balance succeeds; 

8. A luxurious knowledge of Beauty follows; 9. 
Gratification suffuses the audience; 10. A natural 
comprehension of Art caps the zuhole automatically. 
The entire process may be so rapid as to seem to 
be instantaneous. This is because the mind is quick- 
er than light fling. If the appeal is successful it is 
always the same. It behooves us, therefore, to em- 
ploy media with ten-point power. 

To visualize, we seek symbols. And what 
are symbols, but phenomena in the minds and 
hearts of our audience that coincide in ex- 
pression with our impression? The real 
thing must be imagined by the suggestion of 
its symbol. And the experiment is not suc- 
cessful until the imagined thing becomes real! 

Now, then, we set out to build — on the 
audience's imagination. Our problem be- 
comes one of fitting the Artistic with the 
mechanical requirements. It is a simple 
enough thing to attract an audience's atten- 
tion. Any fool may do that by springing up 
and shouting "Fire !" He would destroy 
order and create chaos. On the contrary, we 
must attract attention and hold the audience 
at attention until we have driven home our 
tenth point — Art ! We have an Order to fol- 
low, an Order to preserve, and an Order to 
complete. 

148 



VALUE OF THE OUTLINE 

Order must be preconceived, else how can 
we follow it? Whether our Photoploy be 
divided into three, five, or seven Parts, the 
method of building will be identical. 

(EXAMPLE 99.) All Photoplays have three 
component divisions: I. A Beginning; II. A Mid- 
dle; III. An End. Corresponding to these are: I. 
Introduction; II. Struggle; III. Solution. In rela- 
tion to Hero-motivation the corresponding divisions 
are: I. Desire; II. Conflict; III. Conquest or At- 
tainment. 

The first Part — or Reel, or Act, or what- 
ever constructive unit we may employ — inev- 
itably has to do with division I. — the Begin- 
ning of the Play, the Introduction of the 
characters or the establishment of the Desire 
of the Hero and the counter-desires of sup- 
porting characters. The last Part, no matter 
whether there be three, five, or seven Parts, 
or Reels, has inevitably to do with division 
III. — the End of the Play, the solution of the 
problem, the conquest by the hero and the 
attainment of his purpose. All intervening 
Parts, whether there be one or seven, are 
inevitably concerned with division II. — the 
Middle of the Play, the inter-struggle of 
characters, the Conflict of the Hero in quest 
of his conceived desire. 

149 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

To recapitulate, all Photoplays have only 
three component divisions, although they may 
have from three to twelve external Parts. 

(EXAMPLE ioo.) We may illustrate this point 
by referring to Chapter XX, An Accepted Synop- 
sis. Here we shall find completed, the Idea with 
which we have worked at times under the title of 
"Peter The Great," which we have changed for 
reasons explained in the text. We find in Part I. — 
A Dream of Youth, the Beginning, the Introduction 
and the implanting of the desire of the Hero to zvin 
fame in a musical career. In Parts II, III, IV, V 
and VI, we find the Middle of the Play, Struggle 
and Conflict that brings us forward to ever tenser 
Crises. Then in Part VII, we find the tragic End, 
Solution and Conquest with a promise of Attainment. 

The end of each Part — except the final 
Part — actually sees the desire of the Hero 
seemingly almost gratified, and the Play thus 
ended, when something untoward happens ! 

What we are pleased to call an Outline, is 
an arrangement of the Parts of the Play with 
a title or heading appended to each. First 
let us give warrant to the employment of 
titles to the Parts, and then we shall proceed 
to the simplified process of building by Parts. 

We revert to the principle to be found in 
Example 98, and repeat that whatever means 
are available to our Dramatic End are legit- 
imate. On the stage we have a curtain that 

150 



VALUE OF THE OUTLINE 

punctuates, effectually divides, and fittingly 
completes each unit of the Play. Here is a 
conventional formality that fits the need ex- 
actly. And so in the case of the book, we 
have enumerated Chapters, titles to Chapters, 
illustrations, tailpieces, etc., giving us a fore- 
taste of what is to come, a promise of re- 
wards, cultivating the right mood, and adding 
atmosphere that will tend to take the reader 
imaginatively, delightfully, and realistically 
out of his arm chair and into the heart of the 
adventure. 

Now if ever an Art mode of expression 
needed its units clearly defined and effectually 
divided, it is the Photoplay. It is like a great 
tome of multitudinous small scenes rapidly 
flashed for the space of a mile or more. A 
slight slip and the story is gone; an injudi- 
cious cut and we are bewildered. In the 
Photoplay there is no time for explanations, 
no place for marginal notes. Once begun, there 
is no respite, no pause for breath, but a 
hurried, jostling gallop to the end of the Play. 

All of which is excusable in Comedy, but it 
is highly criticisable in any Art product that 
would lay claim to poise, balance, grace, and 
potential deliberateness. 

Imagine a book or a play without a title! 
The title should be richly fraught with the 

151 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

fragrance of the Play that suggests to the 
audience the color and sweetness, the beauty 
and depth, of the garden whose gateway 
stands ajar. A good title should epitomize 
the thought of the Play without disclosing its 
denouement. In a book, the title is ever be- 
fore our eyes at the top of the page. In a 
Stage Play it recurs to us on the program 
which we consult at the close of the cycle of 
action, the Act. Thus the book in its Chapter 
unit, and the Stage Play in its Scene and Act, 
have their pleasing Rhythm that piles Crisis 
on Crisis with the relentless picturesqueness 
of the waves of the sea which no man can 
withstand. The Photoplay must have some- 
thing to take their place. Hence the Outline, 
which is a sub-title for each Part. These sub- 
titles must breathe the same spirit as the main 
title and tempt the imagination without ap- 
peasing it at the beginning of each cycle of 
action, or Part, like a Chapter heading. These 
subtitles must be in themselves cumula- 
tive, filled with progressing tenseness as they 
approach the Climax. If a metaphor is 
attempted in the main title, the sub-titles 
should carry out the metaphor to the point of 
fruition. In other words, there must be an 
intrinsic agreement between title and sub- 
titles, just as there should be close harmony 

152 



VALUE OF THE OUTLINE 

between these and the essence of the story. 
Thus it may be inferred that an Outline is 
subject to Technical excellence and Artistic 
conception. 

(EXAMPLE 101.) In "The Agitator": 
Part I. — Disciples of Discontent 
Part II. — A Leader Arises 
Part III.— The Voice of the People 
Part IV. — The Might of a Woman 
Part V. — The Pinnacle of Power 

As the main title must contain the essence 
of the entire Play, so must each of the sub- 
titles of the Outline contain the essence of its 
Part. 

A Photoplay of five reels means nothing to 
the audience if there is no division between 
them. It has not even time significance. It 
is merely the measure of a mile of film. Art 
products are not built in the mass and exhib- 
ited in the bulk thus. Attentiveness, interest, 
entertaining endurance, travel in cycles. 
When a cycle begins to become exhausted it 
is revived by artificial respiratives and stimu- 
lants. The mind palls over the monotony of 
the withoutastop mass, but it delights in repet- 
itive effects. Hence the paragraph and 
Chapter, the Act and Scene, the verse and 
Canto and the outline with its Parts. 

153 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

The sub-title should precede on the screen 
immediately the action of the Part it concerns, 
exactly as the Chapter title precedes its Chap- 
ter. It acts as a "curtain" to the Part that 
has just been finished. Rather than interrupt 
anything, it forms a binder of the action and 
establishes everything as well as giving a 
delicious foresmack that enhances the interest 
and heightens the entertainment. 

(EXAMPLE 102.) Objections to the sub-title 
will continue to be voiced logically by the type of 
producer who feels it his bounden duty to give 
screen "credit" to sub-directors, director, co-direct- 
ors, director general, camera men, lighting-effects 
artist, artist responsible for arranging sets, scenario 
by — , synopsis by — , from story by — , etc. Surely 
some of these no doubt worthy ladies and gentlemen 
should be satisfied with their munificent salaries 
without interrupting the story to make a bow that 
no one except their own immediate friends and 
relatives give a hang about — not to mention the one 
or more stars who each claim a "frame" or more 
for a few personal remarks. A hundred feet or 
more to exploit studio aids at the expense of the 
story seems costly. Sub-titles would occupy less 
place. Which is no plea to dispense with the names 
of real author, director, and star. 



154 



Tools without Handles sooner or 
later lead to a Confusion that will 
Injure the Workman and Botch his 
Work. 

CHAPTER XVI 

Definitions of Working Terms 

title; motive; cast; outline; synopsis; 
continuity ; scenario j manuscript \ 
photoplay; photodrama; plot, complete 
plot, plot fragment, plot germ. 

LET us now make it clear briefly what the 
building groups and their functions are. 
First in order is the title. The title is the 
name of the Photoplay; therefore it seems 
fitting that it should at least suggest some of 
the personality of the thing itself. It may 
tell something of what it is about, but should 
never reveal how it is brought about, which 
is the function of the story and not the title. 
It is advisable, though not essential, that the 
title be conceived before the story is begun. 
We may have been unable at the first to ap- 
proximate the right title, which comes to us 
later in a happy flash. Spend hours — days 

155 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

if necessary — on your title and then live up 
to every letter in it! 

The next step in tHe building group — which 
may seem arbitrary, though its induction 
seems warranted from every point of view — 
is the Motif. The Motif is stated in just a 
line or two giving key and pitch to all, an ever 
present guide to Harmony and a stern index 
to Purpose. Its use begins with the author, 
but thereafter it becomes an aid to all con- 
cerned — continuity-writer, director, and actor 
— to hew to the line, stick to the spirit, and 
never to step out of his part. Like all motifs 
it occurs ever and anon. 

(EXAMPLE 103.) So in the case of the Com' 
plete Synopsis of "Pierre he Grand" to be found 
in another chapter, the motif is: There are Great 
Hearts — like Fixed Stars — which, though storms 
may rage that cloud the Horizon and seem 
to threaten their very Existence, they shine and 
smile ever on, guiding Weaker Mortals in their 
Upzvard Climb. 

Thus it may be seen that the motif is a 
paraphrase of the story. More frequently 
than otherwise, to have it appear, following 
the title on the screen, enhances the Appeal of 
the Photoplay. 

Our next element in the building group to 
appear on the manuscript is the cast of char- 

IS6 



DEFINITIONS : WORKING TERMS 

acters. That this element has been consist- 
ently slighted may be inferred on studying 
the following chapter. 

The next building element to appear on the 
manuscript is the Outline. The Outline ap- 
pears here separate and complete. It appears 
in the manuscript and on the screen also as 
sub-titles for their respective Parts. The 
complete Outline is the basis for the building 
program which we shall presently essay. 

A Part — sometimes designated as a Reel — 
is one of the divisions included in the Out- 
line. A Part may be exactly a reel of film, 
though this is arbitrary. It may take half a 
reel or two reels — it is a unit of Dramatic 
measure, not of time or film. Each Part has 
its own construction and climax, which is 
cumulatively related to the Grand Climax. 

Next comes the Synopsis, or the story of 
the play, built in accordance with the Outline. 

The continuity of the Photoplay differs 
from the synopsis in that it is the play that 
the synopsis tells us about. The continuity 
is the working plan used by the building 
director. It should contain nothing that has 
not been suggested in the synopsis. It is the 
physical history, whereas the synopsis is the 
emotional story. The synopsis tells what and 
why it is, while the continuity shows how it is 

157 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

going to be built. The synopsis is altogether 
a matter of Art with a knowledge of Me- 
chanics in the background ; the continuity is 
altogether a matter of Mechanics with a con- 
ception of Art in the background. 

The scenario is any draft of the scene- 
order of the story. Continuity might well be 
called a working-scenario. 

The manuscript — or script, into which the 
word has been permanently slanged by the 
studio — is the author's original hand-writing 
or handiwork in toto. It is also made to 
mean the paper containing all or any part of 
v the play. 

A Photoplay is the completed story as 
played by the players and produced on the 
screen. A Photoplay in manuscript is the 
title, Motif, cast, Outline and Synopsis en 
bloc. 

Photo drama is the art of reproducing great 
moments of Life in story by means of ani- 
mated photographs before an audience who 
shall recognize their truth and find entertain- 
ment therein. The term may be made to in- 
clude as well the Mechanics of making and 
producing Photoplays. 

A Plot is a practicable idea upon which a 
Photoplay story may be based, built and beau- 
tified. A Complete Plot is one in which an 

158 



definitions: working terms 

idea has been developed from Purpose to At- 
tainment, every Technical problem having 
been generated, met, and solved, ready to be- 
gin the synopsis. A Plot fragment is a Dra- 
matic Situation capable of important develop- 
ment or of becoming the crux of the story. 
A Plot germ may be any Dramatic stimulant 
sufficient to impel the plotting faculties into 
fruitful activity. 



159 



Characters neither Simulate nor Im- 
itate other Persons — they Become 
and ARE the Persons Themselves. 

CHAPTER XVII 

Casting Characters 

characters vs. actors j not pantomime; 
expression, not acting; husks or spirit; 
symbols again; interpreters only; spir- 
itual meetings j star system j revealing 
motif; "character" roles; expression 
emphatic but not exaggerated; differ- 
entiation ; leads and good and bad 
characters; interplay; naturalness. 

THIS actor-vs. -character business has been 
always more serious and damaging to all 
Drama than the merely commercial producer 
and the over-ambitious actor have considered 
it to be. Often we ask ourselves — as we see 
the same actors taking the same kind of parts 
all their days — is not histrionic versatility one 
of the rarest of the Arts? Whether this 
seeming sterility is due to managerial coer- 
cion, professional laziness, or artistic limita- 
tions, the fact remains that the large majority 
of actors get in their "part" rut early in their 

160 



CASTING CHARACTERS 

professional life and stick there until age 
relegates them to the "elderly character" rut. 
It is true, however, that all actors — whether 
they be of the actor constellation or artist 
stars — can play one type better than any 
other. 

But the author has co-operated none too well 
with producer, director, and actor in setting 
forth the intrinsic qualities of his characters 
other than as we find them inextricably en- 
meshed in the complications of the action of 
the play. Photoplay manuscripts are read 
and accepted pre-eminently in the terms of 
their application to high-salaried stars who 
must be kept working. Seldom indeed is the 
Play the thing, or fine Photodrama the goal 
per se. Producers and their staffs are always 
tempted by the "fireworks" in a script, yet 
before they buy they always ask each other, 
"But can MacCullough Booth do it?" And, 
after the script is bought, if they find their 
star cannot do it, they alter the Play to fit his 
measure of talent. 

In nine cases out of ten, to alter a character 
means to tamper mischievously with the 
whole Play, since the chief character is in- 
trusted with the attainment of the underlying 
motive and the interpreting Purpose for 
which the play was created. In the case of 

161 



THE feature photoplay 

the worth-while Play a sad blunder is the re- 
sult. It is something of a tragedy when a 
splendid Idea is misplayed or a good actor is 
miscast. Finely constructed and balanced 
Plays are inflexible, while an artist's talent 
should be broad and adaptable. Both the 
trouble and the difficulty lie in the haste in 
which plays are bought, rehashed, glanced 
over, and produced. 

Now, if the author can and will co-operate 
and so amplify his cast of characters that it 
will reveal the nature of the characters to be 
portrayed, and not merely enumerate an 
empty list of names, the advantages, the con- 
venience, the clarification and the time-saving 
will be incalculable. It scarcely will be neces- 
sary to read stories — or only a small propor- 
tion of them at most. A perusal of the cast 
will show almost at a glance whether or not it 
is suitable for the retained star and his or her 
stock supports. If it is, then read the story 
by all means. 

(EXAMPLE 104.) "Peter the Great"— which 
eventually becomes "Pierre Le Grand" — was ac- 
cepted in this very manner. The Lead was delineated 
thus: PIERRE FONTANELLE A Grand Fig- 
ure among the simple French people of Old Quebec; 
he is a potential musician and composer of rare 
ability, with a cherished Dream of Musical Fame 

162 



CASTING CHARACTERS 

in the Secret Garden of his heart; but he is a 
Dreamer rather than a Doer, and has none of the 
harsher traits of commercial Ambition; yet he is 
the sublimer Doer when it comes to Sacrifice for 
others — especially for his little sister, Gabriele; he 
is emotional and always ready to re-dream his 
Dream, but needs a force to push him on to action; 
he is gentleness personified, and part of his Creed 
is an abhorrence for Violence and Combat, which 
makes his enemy think him a Coward; withal he is 
intensely human and when baited beyond endurance 
will turn upon his tormentor with a ferocity such 
as only the long-suffering are capable of. — It was 
seen at a glance that William Farnum fitted the 
part like a glove. 

Merely to enumerate a conventional list of 
names indicating that they appear in the Play 
means absolutely nothing to the inquirer 
seeking to know Who and What the people 
are who appear and interpret the Play-Idea. 
Mere names mean nothing to reader, director, 
or actor. A name is only the husk and what 
they are all seeking is the spirit. From that list, 
how do they know what qualifications are 
essential to fill the parts? Give them the de- 
tails of Who the person really is under his 
skin, What he or she will do when put to it. 
They want to meet these people soul to soul; 
they must assume their very beings ! Can 
they do it? 

No, this delineating a character is not mere- 

163 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

ly assuming a play-name and strutting before 
the camera. An actor is only an actor when 
off the boards and the screen. The physical 
John Smith the actor has ceased to exist on 
the screen ; it is Hamlet we see there ! If we 
see John Smith the actor, on the screen, then 
he is miscast. Externals are a matter of 
actor; internals of character. The gulf of 
Art lies between them. 

How, we ask, is an actor intelligently and 
sincerely to become a character through and 
through whose bowing acquaintance he makes 
through the director's direction to "Throw 
yourself on that sofa and weep as though you 
had just heard the news of your mother's 
death." Oh dear, oh dear! Great artists 
have been asked to go through this twaddle. 
If they fail to "get" him the director wtU go 
through the performance of "working up 
steam" for actors who falter. Then they imi- 
tate him! This sort of thing has been done 
every day for years in the studios. More 
often than not, the actor was kept in igno- 
rance of the true nature of the character be- 
cause his interpretation might clash with that 
of the director. Actors primarily are inter- 
ested in the Emotional depth of the Play. 
Directors primarily are interested in the phys- 
ical breadth of the Play. 

164 



CASTING CHARACTERS 

Characters whom we meet by name only, 
are just like people we meet by name only. 
We don't know a blessed thing about them 
except their names. Now the character be- 
comes an actor's second self ; he must know 
the part no less than he knows himself. He 
must have a perfect Emotional understanding 
of this Play, know what he will do under any 
given condition; he must creep into his soul. 
Then whatever he does will be truly natural. 

Are any of us able to tell the thoughts, 
motives, yearnings, of a soul we have never 
known? Could we hope even to imitate them? 
Dramatic qualities lie in the soul of the char- 
acter, of the actor, of everyone. There must 
be a get-together, or spiritual meeting, of all 
concerned. They must get the characters into 
their souls and emotions. They must feel the 
emotions of the characters. 

The author then must not merely describe 
characters, but delineate them. The author 
alone can tell the truth about them, for they 
are mind of his mind and spirit of his spirit. 
It is requisite in the brief hour of the Drama 
that we know the characters as we do persons 
we have been acquainted with for years and 
under the stress of the Big Moments of Life. 

The true cast then should be a catalog of 
potentialities. The author should visualize 

165 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the character's souls. He reveals what they 
are and can do. The actor becomes what they 
are, with all their potentialities of strength 
and weakness, and he will do what they 
would have done under the circumstances. 
The actor takes upon himself their destiny 
which the author has predetermined in the 
Climax of his Play. For the author has 
created their own little temporary world. 
For the moment, actors and audience are con- 
cerned only with the prescribed life of our 
characters, which is a real thing apart from 
the actual life that has been shoved aside. 
The end of this little inside world comes with 
the Climax. Incidents and people who do 
not motivate that Climax are no concern of 
ours. Unrelated incidents and people are as 
remote as the Martians and only serve to tear 
us out of our superinduced abstraction of the 
Play. 

Minor characters that should appear in the 
cast are those who are brought into intimate 
and personal contact with the leading charac- 
ter, or characters, and on whose dramatic, 
"support" he depends for interference or as- 
sistance in the pursuit of his Purpose. Thus 
in our cast we shall include the leading char- 
acter, or characters, and the supporting char- 
acters. Other people who may appear on the 

166 



CASTING CHARACTERS 

screen, like all the other people we all of us 
pass by in the daily walks of life, are the 
"properties" and make the settings natural. 

(EXAMPLE 105.) The people on a crowded 
thoroughfare ; the policeman, the postman, and the 
porter; the waiter in the restaurant, the conductor 
on the train — they are worlds outside our own inti- 
mate circle or group, that is, they are no emotional 
concern of ours — unless they pierce this circle and 
enter our emotional life. 

Delineating the psychological attributes of 
the character, then, is more than essential. 
On the other hand, describing physical en- 
dowments requisite to the character is of 
doubtful advantage. If the heroine is de- 
scribed as flaxen-haired, a raving beauty, tall 
and slender, blue-eyed and tilted-nosed, and 
the star is a brunette, neither tall nor slender, 
black-eyed and aquiline-nosed, it is doubtful 
that the producer would repudiate her con- 
tract to take the Play for another. Actors 
may look like various things, but characters 
simply are things and do things regardless of 
their looks. It is advisable to have characters 
look the part, of course, but what counts is 
how they do it J 

There we strike the keynote — characters 
describe themselves alone in terms of expres- 

167 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

sion. We differentiate cast from synopsis 
then, in that the cast reveals only the poten- 
tialities of the characters, while the synopsis 
takes for granted this disclosure of potential- 
ities and concerns itself only with their ex- 
pression. When we seek what it is that char- 
acters express, we find that they express their 
characteristics, which in turn are largely 
symbols of the vices and virtues of humanity. 
So, bearing in mind that Contrast is the basic 
motive principle in Dramatic construction, we 
must see to it that our cast is well blessed with 
variety. From one point of view, Photo- 
drama is nothing less than the interplay 
between characters endowed with contrasting 
characteristics and opposing motives. One 
glance at a well-balanced Dramatic cast re- 
veals that the characters there delineated, 
when thrown together within the narrow con- 
fines of the Photoplay, with but one fighting 
way out, are bound to bring about a circus 
before they are through. 

(EXAMPLE 106.) The ingredients that go to 
make up "No — She Would Not Wed" are: Cicely 
Sumner An incorrigible, wild young girl; char- 
acteristic, that of being untamed Jim Fleming 

A serious minded, strong handed young man; 

loves a fight; characteristic, that of ind omit ability 
Mr. Torrence Old fuss of a bachelor Who 

168 



CASTING CHARACTERS 

hates wildness; characteristic, that of being orderly 
and conventional Mr. Jollibee Unconven- 
tional, loves everybody; characteristic, that of opti- 
mistic gentleness Aunt Teresa Sentimental 

hypocrite; characteristic, that of insincerity 

Cousin Eustace Dashing devil among the 

women; characteristic, that of polite villainy. Now 
put them all in the same hat and shuffle up their 
characteristics! 

It may readily be seen that one of the 
simplest and most important steps in the 
process of Dramatic construction lies in this 
creation and arrangement of casts. We re- 
turn to our diagram, with the Hero and his 
inseparable Purpose represented by the broad 
central line running from the base of the 
action to its apex. Stop and think, then, what 
characters will best suit your Dramatic Pur- 
pose of making the sparks fly. As you think 
of them, draw a line representing them, for 
or against the hero. Try to introduce a 
comedy character if you can without resorting 
to the inartistic expedient of dragging in a 
cute and helpless baby or kitten from the out- 
side world to help out. Comedy is not 
essential, though highly advisable. 

Aside from any other point, characters 
must be differentiated in order to make them 
vitally interesting. The very moment they 
appear together they become Dramatic. 

169 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Spiritual Conflict is spontaneous even before 
there is either expression or action on their 
part. This is a social axiom; and because it 
is true of human society, it is true of Drama, 
which is a mirror of life's worthwhile char- 
acters. 



170 



Building is giving Concrete Form to 
Expression — Rheims Cathedral is a 
Living Stone Image of a Sublime 
Vicissitude of the Soul of an Un- 
known Thirteenth Century Artist. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Building by Parts 

beginning with the climax; plotting 
methods; questions to be answered; 
part building; diagram and counter- 
plotting; climaxes; motivation. 

A PHOTOPLAY, like our human self, 
may be said to be composed of spirit — 
which is the Idea-Motif ; frame — which is the 
Plot; and body — which is the finished Play. 

Granted we have the Idea-Motif, our next 
step is to build a fitting frame to house it. A 
curious fact about effective Plot building is, 
that we build the end of the plot first* 

It is absolutely essential to know whither 
we are going and to what purpose, at the out- 
set, since every happening, situation and 
crisis contribute directly or indirectly to the 
Climax.* Thus our diagram is a perfect line 
drawing of a Play in plot form. 

* Again we refer students and readers to "The Plot of 
the Short Story" and "The Universal Plot Catalog," by the 
author of this volume. 

171 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 



(EXAMPLE 107.) 



The Supreme Str\i£g1< 
T)»e Sublime S&cri 
T>»e Ble»sed Dcmciseli< 
The Drc&d Specter 

The B«a.utifvJ 

Lie 
A D*cajn 
of Ycmt,*, 



CK 




Above we have a perfect drawing of our Photo- 
play, "Pierre Le Grand." Note the ever converging 
lines drawing the action tighter and tighter as the 
Play advances. Each horizontal line within the 
triangle represents the end of a Part. Each Part 
sees the hedging in on the Hero and his line of pur- 
pose. Arrayed on either side and constantly bearing 
against his Purpose lines are the purpose lines of 
each of the other principal characters. On one side 
of him are those trying to give him aid, on the other 
side are those hindering him in attaining: Ms pur- 

172 



BUILDING BY PARTS 

pose. Throughout, each character clings to his own 
purpose to the very end. Our Hero is crowded 
ever closer, each contest to hold their respective 
positions becoming more and more intense, until 
at the Climax they all come together in a decisive 
struggle in which one must win. The Climax is not 
quite at the end, or apex, that space is left for re- 
wards and punishments and for each to attain the 
end that his action throughout the play warrants. 
Each Part has its own semi-Climax, which is marked 
by the horizontal lines within the triangle. Each 
Part is a complete segment of action, the charac- 
ters having been carried forward in pursuit of their 
purposes just as far and at practically the same 
angle as the diagram shows. The more converging 
character lines there are, the more possibility of 
excitement and suspense, but the more skill needed 
to control the many characters. We may compare 
the action to an advance in battle formation, none 
may lag, all must be up and active, the line must 
neither waver nor be broken. 

This does not mean that we put on the 
steeple before we build the foundation. How- 
ever, our first step is to determine beyond 
peradventure what the Hero's Purpose is and 
how he shall attain it or fail to do so. That 
is the story. We must know the outcome in 
advance. Our process so far is one of care- 
ful conjecture. 

But we do not build backward. Keeping 
our Climax ever fixed in our mental horizon, 
we now return to the beginning of our Plot. 

173 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Provided our idea is a big Idea, sufficient for 
five or more film reels of Dramatic endurance, 
it is possible for us at this point to determine 
how many Parts its exploitation will nicely 
admit of. Each product will admit of a 
single perfect exploitation or development. 
Some will attain this fine maturity in five 
Parts, others may warrant more or less. Five 
Parts is suggested as a standard length and 
form. 

Since each Part has a climax all its own, it 
adheres to the same rule of the complete story, 
in that we must find out the end of the Part 
before we may intelligently essay a beginning. 
Assuming that five Parts will answer, we may 
proceed to four great crises with which to 
terminate four of the Parts, reserving Part V 
for the Climax of the story itself. Our idea 
is to seek four cycles of action terminating 
in a sharp Crisis, one following the other, 
cumulatively, each more intense and critical 
and each aggravating the Climax more per- 
sistently. 

(EXAMPLE 108.) Having concluded what the 
Climax of the story shall be, an excellent method 

of procedure is to set down "Part I enis with " 

And so on, Part II, III, IV, with the words "ends 
with" jotted beside it and leaving blank space to set 
down with what it ends zvhen you have discovered 
your crises. 

174 



BUILDING BY PARTS 

Having determined how many Parts we 
intend to employ and having our title and 
Climax in hand, a simple method is to name 
the Parts — subtitle them — keeping the spirit 
and the essence of the main title in so doing. 
This may be done tentatively, because of the 
great time and care needed for the perfect 
Outline, bearing in mind the great crisis that 
is to culminate each Part. 

(EXAMPLE 109.) In "A Temporary Nut" the 
outline reflects the spirit of high comedy: Part I — 
A Broken Joint; Part II — A Loose Nut; Part III 
— A Cracked Union; Part IV — A Busted "Pipe" ; 
Part V — A Damaged Drain. In "The Three 
Wishes" a modern Romance is properly keyed: 
Part I — The Enchantment; Part II — The Deep 
Forest of Life ; Part III — The Kingdom of a Wish; 
Part IV— The Vanity of Wishes; Part V—The 
Spell is Lifted. 

These Parts are Chapters in the play-life 
and purpose of the chief character, or epi- 
sodes in developing the Theme. Each chapter 
ends with the almost solution that seems to 
grow more and more hopeless. 

Having discovered what every Part "ends 
with," we are prepared to seek what each 
Part begins with. This means that we are 
ready to begin to write the synopsis. 



175 



Photodrama is the Phantom- among 
the Arts — but a few vagrant Words 
from the Author's Script Sift through 
to the Screen; the Actor Mimics 
Silently with no Audience in sight; 
an Audience beholds a Silent Drama 
with only the Speechless Wraiths of 
Actors flickering in half-darkness 
against a Distant Wall! 

CHAPTER XIX 

The Readable Synopsis 

mental building; visualization again; 
importance of character; silent dra- 
ma j length of synopsis; suggestion; 
motivation; immediacy; paragraphic 
sequences ; harmony ; vision ; desire and 
struggle; style and tempo; literary 
garnishings; readability; play of an 
hour; all there is to tell; concrete 

ACTION. 

WE build our synopsis mentally first. 
In other words, we work out all our 
difficulties and solve our Technical problems 
before we attempt to set down the answers. 
Drama in its forward movement is analogous 

176 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

to geometrical progression. The introduction 
of a line or angle, an Event or Crisis, will 
alter each successive process and inevitably 
change the grand result, or Climax. Having 
worked out all the intricacies of Plot, we are 
now prepared to write our synopsis. 

The requisites of the Photoplay synopsis 
have led to the creation of a new literary 
style. A study of photoplay effects will dis- 
close that they are fraught with a pressing 
urge of immediacy, a certain demand for 
now-ness in every particular, a hurry-call for 
instantaneous understandings from all sides. 
This is due to the multiplicity of action parti- 
cles — which are technically called "scenes" — 
and mechanical "frames," which must im- 
press their messages in the fraction of a sec- 
ond or minute each. There must be speed 
without haste, and this synthetic fragmenta- 
tion must be in evidence only in the building 
of the Photoplay. The finished product must 
run as smoothly as a stream of water made up 
of countless drops and numerous tributaries 
now flowing as a single powerful body toward 
a common goal, fast or slowly according to 
the gravity of the situation. 

Now, any literary devices that can naturally 
imitate our process, simulate the matter itself, 
and give verisimilitude of the desired effects 

177 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

without becoming a freak, are worthy of con- 
sideration and adoption. Thus our first 
happy device is that of employing present 
tense, thereby attaining the desired immediacy 
of appeal and effect at once. Thus whatever 
happens does so now, right before our imme- 
diate vision. Nothing could be more incisive 
or dramatic. Instantly we approximate the 
actual cinematographic process. 

(EXAMPLE no.) "The Primitive Woman" 
opens with: "An entertainment is in full swing at 
the Suburban Hotel. Guests are grouped about a 
stage that is set far front. Professor Stephen Alden 
is there with his mother and sister." It is all going 
on NOW. 

In making things happen coincident with 
the disclosure, or expression of the thought, 
we pass the first and most difficult test of Art 
Appeal — that of inducing reality. We may 
call our style synthetic, and it must suggest 
the thought : "Read — then look into your 
heart, it is all happening there, now!" To 
effect this we must tell our story in terms of 
emotion, but in such personal terms that the 
reader and the audience will feel it. From 
this we may deduce that the synopsis must 
express our story Idea intelligibly and emo- 
tionally. To accomplish this, there must be 

178 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

a medium of mutual understanding and feel- 
ing, a language and sympathy, a set of 
symbols and vision — and all this we call sim- 
ply applied Technique. We find it exempli- 
fied in the synopsis. 

Technique again must come to the rescue 
as the writer comes face to face with his task 
of expression, which is most singular in that 
he must write altogether in terms of sugges- 
tion, for only an occasional word of all he 
writes will literally ever appear in the finished 
product! He must speak altogether in the 
language of symbols. He does neither more 
nor less than give suggestive directions for 
the emotional expression of the idea-plot. He 
must write a story without words, a Drama 
without dialogue, a narrative without descrip- 
tion. And yet the synopsis must be a living, 
vital, Dramatic story that springs into being 
through immediate visualisation, that tells all 
there is to tell ! 

It has been said that the synopsis must tell 
its story in terms of "action." That our 
synopsis tell its story in terms of expression, 
is a happier phrase. For it is not essential 
that characters do something every second of 
their appearance, but it is highly important 
that they be and mean something throughout 
their appearance. The setting, the properties, 

179 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the mob, the support and the main characters 
must all influence in the direction of the 
desired impression — or not appear at all. 
Impression then is the thing — instantaneous, 
deep, powerful and lasting impression. 

(EXAMPLE in.) "Old Mr. Torrence is fussing 
about his home as usual. He is the Czar of his own 
house and makes everyone suffer when he makes a 
mistake. So we find he has mislaid his precious 
old pipe. Everyone is requisitioned — the house- 
keeper, the maid, and the cook. They look every- 
where. Mr. Torrence finally finds the pipe in the 
pocket of his dressing gown. He sends them all 
back to their places blaming them for their over- 
sight." — In this opening to "No — She Would Not 
Wed," the keynote of the Play is touched and the 
future Comedy is forecast and character is estab- 
lished — all instantly. 

Our example discloses not alone that action 
is not the only medium of interpretation, but 
also another technicality of synopsis style- 
effectiveness ; namely, that of paragraph 
sequence. By this is meant that each para- 
graph shall include — neither more nor less — 
a complete cycle or sequence of action. Thus 
a minor motive is introduced by either a 
principal or supporting character and carried 
past its Crisis to a complete solution before 
we close the paragraph in which it began. 

180 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

One Sequence is finished uninterruptedly 
before another is begun, which in turn is 
undertaken and completed before another is 
begun. The order of the Sequence para- 
graphs is that of the progression of the story 
itself, and in the main is chronological. 

(EXAMPLE 112.) MR. TORRENCE'S MOST 
HORRIBLE VICE AND CHIEF OCCUPATION 
IS SOLITAIRE. We see him engaged in a ter- 
rible game against himself with things coming out 
all wrong, which is evidenced by his grimaces. To 
make matters worse, he is interrupted by his 
housekeeper coming to the door; he finally admits 
her and with a great frown takes the packet she 
hands him. It is registered, so he must sign for it. 
He bawls out the housekeeper, the postman, and 
everybody else. Then he opens and becomes almost 
unmanageable in his irritability. He reads in 
part:— THE FORMER EXECUTOR SUGGESTS 
THAT YOU BE APPOINTED GUARDIAN IN 
HIS PLACE. THIS WAS HIS LAST RE- 
QUEST. Mr. Torrence tosses the letter aside in 
his wrath and is making a continued row which he 
takes out on the Housekeeper who comes to an- 
nounce: MR. JOLLIBEE, TORRENCE'S SOLE 
FRIEND, MANAGER AND CONFIDANT. 

"Mr. Jollibee, all smiles, at great length manages 
to soothe Mr. Torrence," etc. But a new sequence 
of action has begun. 

We note that not only the synopsis, but also 
each paragraph, opens with concrete expres- 

181 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

sum, something vital goes on all the time. 
Everything outside its impartial view is meat 
for another Sequence of expression. It is 
part of that immediacy which must be present 
in every operation. Again we attain it in the 
succinctness of the synopsis, in its close- 
packed style, that delineates in swift, broad 
strokes with every expressive sentence which 
must not only say something but tell it as well. 
In Photodrama, we must effect instanta- 
neous understanding or none. Photoplay life 
is too short and rapid for recapitulations. 
Therefore all that appears in the synopsis 
must be material, not matter, and be highly 
suggestive. Who the character is and what 
he is doing must be made clear. A mistaken 
cue will send the reader's, the actor's, or the 
audience's wits far in the wrong direction, 
and vital connective events may transpire un- 
noted before their minds can return and 
grasp the situation again. As we have said, 
impressions must be driven deep and quick. 
Incisiveness is imperative on account of the 
multiplicity of Scenes — some a few seconds 
in length. And because there is neither waste 
of words nor action, the synopsis may seem 
to lack the leisureliness of other literary 
forms, though it should never want in dignity, 
any more than the resultant Photoplay should 

182 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

be wanting in that quality. From this we 
gather that the synopsis is nothing less than 
a new way of telling a story with all the 
Esthetic and Emotional properties of pre- 
established styles and with a vividness of 
reality that all forms may well borrow. To 
repeat, the synopsis is the story of the Play 
that might be told after seeing the Photoplay, 
only as a matter of fact it is written before 
the Play is made. 

There is no room for physical description 
in the Photoplay. Things are instantly they 
are seen or spoken about. The author tells 
who and what his characters are and baldly 
where the events take place. It is the direc- 
tor's function, by means of locations and sets, 
to supplement this by placing the characters 
in logical and fitting environment and sur- 
roundings, which will be consistent with their 
characters and harmonious with the Play- 
Idea. The author, however, must anticipate 
environment, for environment always has its 
influence — at least temporarily — on the mo- 
tives of characters. The spirit of setting and 
how it motivates, environates, and alters the 
conduct of character, is one of the subtlest 
and most effective artifices within reach of 
the dramatist. It is not a rule but a law of 
conduct that what we would do in one place 

183 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

we would not think of doing in another. En- 
vironment frequently establishes a plausible 
reason for a character's much-needed radical 
departure in conduct. 

(EXAMPLE us.) The seashore and musical 
comedy are occasions for a startling scarcity in 
female attire that would shock a busy thorough- 
fare. Even married men have been known to kiss 
pretty girls in dark comers, though they love their 
wives and children dearly. Moonlit evenings in 
June have produced many unhappy marriages be- 
cause the contracting parties proved incapable of 
mutual love in daylight in December. The dansants 
— with or without wine, but usually without accom- 
panying husbands or wives — produce a giddiness 
tliat breaks up many happy homes. Men kill their 
fellows in self-defence who abhor murder. The 
North Woods carrv some back to the primitive and 
fill others with bigness. 

Long before this we must have realized the 
greater part that Character plays in Photo- 
drama. After years we remember Characters 
and not a series of things they did ; what they 
n'crc and not how they acted. We still de- 
light in intimate associations with choice 
characters of fiction and Drama. Who 
readily can forget Barrymore's "Dr. Jekyll- 
Mr. Hyde"? But please remember that the 
character is great because the story is great; 
the part cannot become greater than the 

184 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

whole. Character is nothing more than a per- 
petual revelation of Motif. It is not sufficient 
that a character should be on the scene all 
the time and keep before the camera but — if 
he or she is the lead — that he should be the 
greater being throughout. And so we must 
conclude that Character drawing is accom- 
plished by means of expression alone. What 
the Character expresses is important to the 
audience, not what he thinks or feels, which 
is a closed book without expression. Think- 
ing is expressed by caption or vision ; feeling 
always may be expressed in specific or re- 
flective action. 

(EXAMPLE 114.) Thought is most dramatically 
expressed in dialogue through the caption: "JOL- 
LIBEE, I INTEND TO HOLD YOU SOLEMNLY 
RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY ILL THAT COMES 
OF THIS!" "BUT THIS IS MY HOME NOW— 
BESIDES I HAVE NO OTHER PLACE TO 
GO!" Here we have expression of thought and 
immediate reaction. In the case of vision we may re- 
veal what is in the character's mind which must be 
known to the audience to explain his consequent 
action, but zvhich must be withheld from other 
characters present for plot reasons. The vision 
may look either forward or backward. 

When we come to the difficult task of 
writing a synopsis we must cast aside forever 

185 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the opinions of those carping critics or sedu- 
lous apes who variously dub Photodrama 
1 'movies," or tableaux, or spectacle, or panto- 
mime, or acting, or pictures, or captions, or 
dialogue, or star exploiting — independently. 
It is none of these older forms, but a brand 
new Art! When will people get this in their 
heads ? 

There has been much discussion about the 
use of the caption, for instance — which, by 
the way, should be largely suggested in the 
synopsis. The premise of those entering into 
this discussion has been, that Photodrama is 
pantomime or mimicry or pictures, or one or 
the other of older and less worthy mediums 
of Artistic interpretation. Whereas Photo- 
drama is as new as the twentieth century, and 
as progressive. It has drawn more widely 
on material, methods, and effects than all the 
other Arts put together. It is like a half 
dozen others in parts, but absolutely different 
in the whole. It borrows from all the other 
Arts and yet it robs none. 

Thus when we discuss the use of caption — 
which may include dialogue, description, 
humorous allusion, or any other literary em- 
bellishment that may enhance the value of 
the action — we are referring to but a small 
part without which the whole would be in- 

186 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

complete. Caption and dialogue do not 
interrupt action; if they do they are out of 
place. Rather they supplement and cement 
expression. They are part and parcel of the 
expression. If physical action were all it 
would be different. But dialogue, for instance, 
is not mere independent words, but molten 
symbols in the caldron of the play with all 
the other symbols — Characters, Setting, Ac- 
tion, pageantry, etc. — that go to make the 
image of pure metal that we build in the 
hearts of the audience. We illustrate books, 
we embellish them with every art of the 
printer, the bookbinder contributes his art ; on 
the stage the scene-painter and designer con- 
tribute a vital quota, the lighting effects are 
almost paramount, the picture-frame pro- 
scenium is a fixture — embellishments all 
borrowed from lesser Arts to perfect the 
interpretation of a greater. 

(EXAMPLE 115.) The uses of captions are 
many: To indicate what is passing through the 
mind of a character as he reads: "THE FORMER 
EXECUTOR SUGGESTS THAT YOU BE AP- 
POINTED IN HIS PLACE. THIS WAS HIS 
LAST REQUEST.'' Introducing a new character: 
MR. IOLLIBEE, TORRENCE'S SOLE FRIEND, 
MANAGER AND CONFIDANT. Dialogue: "BUT 
I HATE CHILDREN— THERE SHALL NEVER 
BE A NURSERY SET UP IN THIS HOUSE!" 

187 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Humorous Allusion of the author, the only way of 
inducing an intimate style: HERE WE SEE 
CICELY, THE LITTLE TLIING AT MISS 
HENNABERRY'S FINISHING SCHOOL- 
NEARLY FINISHING THE SCHOOL. As a 
bridge of time: SEVERAL DAYS PASS THAT 
REGISTER A RADICAL CHANGE IN TOR- 
REN CE'S DULL LIFE. 

These captions are all of a piece with sug- 
gestion. They are fraught with the human- 
interest power of bringing things home to the 
audience, just as much as the croon of a 
mother to her babe, the buzzing of a bee on a 
summer's day, an old tune, and so on. 

Captions are like links in the chain of the 
narrative that bind it together. It is sug- 
gested that the author write in the synopsis 
the captions which he thinks ought to appear. 
As the captions reveal many of the otherwise 
hidden springs that supply the flowing body 
that makes the play, it is but natural that the 
author should best know these otherwise in- 
visible sources that contribute so vitally to 
the main stream. Much misguided motiva- 
tion and false cues might thus be avoided. 

(EXAMPLE 116.) By capitalizing the captions 
they are readily differentiated from the rest and 
when typed in red are readily picked out by the 
scenarioist to be incorporated in the continuity. Also 

188 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

they stand out like guide posts to the dramatic 
highway of the action: In "The Primitive Woman" 
we readily trace the development of the Professor's 
love affair. "TAKE FOR INSTANCE THIS 
JADE TONIGHT— SHE IS THE IMMODEST 
REFLECTION OF A SOCIETY THAT IS DECA- 
DENT." "AND THERE WE HAVE A CAVE 
MAN— A FINE SPECIMEN." "I SHALL EX- 
PECT YOU BOTH TO VISIT MY PRIMITIVE 
ESTABLISHMENT, WHERE I SHALL SPEND 
THE SUMMER WITH 'THE PRIMITIVE 
WOMAN.'" "YOU JUST LEAVE HIM TO ME, 
BROTHER. HE'S AN IMPUDENT PROFES- 
SOR WHO LIVES LIKE A HERMIT IN A 
HUT." These are the captions for Part I., and in- 
dicate the drift of the play. 

We may now return again to one of our 
first principles. There can be no Drama 
without struggle and almost all Dramatic 
effects are produced simply through contrast. 
Contrast is the first thing we seek or create. 
It must exist in the essence of all effective 
Characterization, Situation, and Crisis. In 
this manner we produce Counterplot — by 
which is not meant mere by-play, however — 
wherein the doings of one Character offset 
those of another. Gradually Drama is gener- 
ated by exerting pressure — through supporting 
Characters — contrary to the movements of 
the principal Character. We put on the brake, 
as it were, against the progressing motive of 

189 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the principal Character. The more pressure we 
bring to bear, the higher the Dramatic tension 
we attain. For whenever characters pause — or 
poise — about to enter Conflict, the movement, 
interest and suspense are accelerated and race 
along at increased speed. The analogy is 
true in common experience, that at no time 
is suspense greater than the instant before we 
engage in Conflict with the excruciation of 
contact, the agony of endurance, and the 
doubt of outcome suspended for a crowded 
moment above our heads. This identical 
Suspense is what carries us effectively over 
the seeming gap between the end of one Part 
and the beginning of another. 

(EXAMPLE 117.) Part II of "Pierre he Grand" 
ends with — "Pierre in his great happiness does not 
sec that hers is a thing apart!" And Part IV ends 
with — "Blake steals outside and telephones the po- 
lice: "THERE HAS BEEN A VALUABLE 
NECKLACE OF PEARLS STOLEN AND I 
WANT YOU TO SEND TWO MEN WITH ME 
TO ARREST THE THIEF— PIERRE FONTA- 
NELLE." In each case we see supporting charac- 
ters exerting pressure against the chief character in 
his effort to follow his motive to its goal. 

Just as Drama is Conflict, or Struggle, so 
Struggle is the visible consequence of invis- 
ible Desire. Desire, as we have learned, is 

190 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

the basic motivating force behind all Drama. 
The principal character's Desire becomes the 
Photoplay's motive. Both the character and 
his Desire should be so strong that the pro- 
gression of the Plot becomes spontaneous and 
automatic. 

This brings us face to face with what has 
often proved to be a baffling problem: What 
is the "lead," or who is the leading Character, 
and how shall we deliver the lead into the 
hands and keeping of the character (usually 
meaning the actor-star) we most want to 
have it? First of all, by the lead we mean 
the character who shall lead and whom all 
the supporting characters shall follow. Hav- 
ing grasped this fact firmly we should turn 
to the story. What does it end with? Who 
wins out ? The character who wins out is the 
lead. We hand him or her the motive and 
implant sufficient Character and Desire to 
carry it to the desired end. If we have in 
mind another for the lead other than the one 
the story demands, then we must change the 
story and its end so that our elected lead shall 
have the motive part. 

(EXAMPLE 118.) In "The Primitive Woman" 
we desire to give the lead to a woman. The pro- 
fessor is desirous of finding and studying a real 
primitive woman. Nans desire is to become a 

191 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

primitive woman for the occasion of teaching him 
an unforgeiable lesson for having mortally offended 
her pride. By playing against her, the professor 
continually plays into her hands Dramatically. The 
motive is Nan's revenge — which she gets in the end. 

At this point we must recall our diagram 
and the rules for building a Photodramatic 
composition. We learned that there were 
three divisions to any such composition : I — 
Introduction of the Dramatic Problem II — 
Suspense over the ensuing Struggle. Ill — 
Solution of the problem. 

(EXAMPLE 119.) 

Division m / \ 
Solution (Realiz&li?t^ \ P*»t, V 



Division H 

3u*peme (Deui>t) , 



(Anti cip*ti o t^L^r ■ ti 

We seek herein to make clear the differences be- 
tween the divisions of dramatic composition and the 
building of the photoplay Parts. 

192 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

Division I and Part I are identical in Pur- 
nose substance, and effect. In Part I, we 
p?a„ motivation, we begin to establish sub- 
sequent coincidences, we » trod / ce ,^tef 
in their native environment and indicate their 
rend, we reveal their inter-re lationships w, h 
other characters, we put forward clearly 
?he premise of the Play and thereby give a 
promissory note with interest due and payable 
on sight to the audience. If we analyzed the 
audience's mind during the first few moments 
of the Photoplay, we should find several per- 
sistent inquiries there: Why have we come? 
Who are these people on the screen? What 
U k all about anyhow? Part then must 
answer, Why, Who, What, and Where. Part 
I consists in a process of powerful compres- 
sion until explosion is imminent. To sum up, 
Part I is the general introduction of Action 
and Characters and their entanglement, and 
the effective planting of the story. 

(EXAMPLE 120.) For example, in "The Prim- 
itive Woman," Part I consists in the mtroducHon of 
aslirited girt who is noted with disgust by a young 
though musty professor of biology, as she does a 
rather rTsgui dlncl for the benefit of the Red Cross 
He tells his mother and s t ster that her « your 
example of the decadent Ameruan society gvrl. 
Give him the Primitive Woman every time! 1 he 

193 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

girl overhears this and is filled with a desire for 
revenge. She tells her brother and others: "You 
watch me! I'll give this prig all the Primitive Wo- 
man he wants!" The thing is wound up ready to 
go. There are Motivation, Characters, and their 
relationships and environment. We have stated the 
premise of the Play. We have answered the ques- 
tions: Why, Who, What, and Where; entangled 
the motives of the Characters, and put on the com- 
pression. The Part "ends with" the girl's declaring 
her resolution. 

Now all the Parts between the first Part 
and the last Part, as we have learned, are 
similar in Purpose and effect. Each ends 
with a Crisis concerned in the untangling of 
the crossed purposes introduced in Part I. 
The only peculiarity is that each succeeding 
Crisis seems more hopeless, for it undoes one 
tangle only to stand face to face with another 
that is worse ! These intervening Parts an- 
swer the question, Hozv is this thing ever 
going to be worked out? These Parts are a 
hot rebellion on the part of the Characters 
against things that are (i.e., in the play). 
While it is true that the problem set forth in 
the begining of each Part may be solved 
therein, it proves to be but a step along the 
thorny path of Dramatic existence that leads 
to a seemingly more impossible step. 

194 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

(EXAMPLE 121.) Continuing with "The Prim- 
itive Woman" : The girl sets forth to carry out her 
Purpose Though rich, she disguises herself as a 
ragamuffin with bare feet. Not knowing quite how 
to manage it, she plans to pretend to be hurt and 
be brought to the cabin of her old nurse who 
lives on the outskirts of the estate where she pre- 
tends she lives. At this juncture m her rehearsal, 
she falls from the cliff almost at the feet of the 
amazed professor, really and truly hurt. She is 
carried by him unconscious to his own hut and not 
to old Mrs. Grundy's, the nurse! Here Part 11 
ends And so having sprained both her ankles 

and having wrenched her body badly, the girl is 
obliged to remain indefinitely. Mrs Grundy is sent 
for The girl gets better and begins to rub in the 
primitive stuff. The professor has fallen m love 
with her, and as a sweetheart he realizes that he 
could never marry a primitive woman! He actually 
begins to polish her! At this juncture, a letter 
comes from his snobbish mother and sister that 
they are giving a szvell party and want him to come. 
He sees an opportunity to "bring out as it were, 
the rough diamond he has discovered. 1 he girl sees 
an opportunity to get square on these two who had 

joined in squelching her. Here Part 111 ends 

The girl goes and raises cain at the party in pre- 
tending she is the original Primitive Woman. 1 he 
Mother commands the professor to choose between 
the family and this she-devil He chooses the girl, 
which secretly wins her love. They return to the 
hut to find the girl's fire-eating brother pistol m 
hand ready to kill the professor for ruining his 
sister. Nothing can appease him. Here Part IV 
ends. 

195 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Thus the end of Part IV brings us to the 
most acute Crisis of any yet achieved, the 
outcome of which leaves no hope for attain- 
ing the Desired End of the Play. If the Play 
had been one of seven Parts, we should still 
have to provide for cumulatively acute Crises 
for Parts V and VI, reserving Part VII — or 
always the final Part — for the exploitation of 
the Climax. Two construction facts are worthy 
of note at this point. A Part may always be 
added by the introduction of a powerful Crisis 
with its cycle of Action, provided that it f ullfils 
the Dramatic requirements of Part composi- 
tion and its relation to its fellow Parts. 
Again, while five Parts are suggested as a 
standard of Photodramatic construction, with 
each Part conforming approximately at least 
to the mechanical length of a reel of film, it 
is possible to have seven Parts and only three 
reels of film. In other words, the length of a 
Part is a matter of construction, not measure- 
ment. 

We have shown that anything but the final 
Crisis — or Climax — while it completes the 
cycle of Action of its respective Part, yet 
forms a connecting link with the Part that 
follows. Each Part is in a sense an Episode, 
each approaching ever nearer and nearer to 
the inevitable Climax. 

196 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

The question that has been haunting the 
audience's mind, and which the final acute 
Crisis has accentuated, is, When is this vex- 
ing, trying problem going to be solved, if at 
all? The final Part answers this When. At 
the completion of the last Part the Charac- 
ters have attained normality again — as far as 
we and they are concerned. The time for 
Solution has arrived at our own suggestion, 
for we must have instilled the feeling that the 
end is near. 

(EXAMPLE 122.) And so we arrive at the final 
Part of "The Primitive Woman" A comic duel is 
fought between the professor and the irate brother. 
When she throws herself into his arms, the pro- 
fessor thinks the brother is the girl's accepted lover. 
When the professor goes away the girl realizes why, 
and also the truth. But he returns and the girl 
runs away. He is broken-hearted. Then he receives 
a note saying she will meet him. She does, as a 
fine lady in evening clothes; and then he realizes 
that she has been training him all the while for her- 
self. "I really think I have hated the Primitive 
Woman all along myself," he tells her. The girl has 
fulfilled her Motive, achieved her ambition; what 
the Play started out to accomplish has been done. 

Thus we find the Climax — the biggest mo- 
ment — of the Play, very near the end. The 
nearer the better, for all that remains is a 
distribution of rewards and punishments to 

197 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

those who have worked hard to bring about 
their own ends. The final phase is rehabili- 
tation. 

How shall we know when we have enough 
material for a Part? First, learn to build 
Parts perfectly. With the principles of Dra- 
matic composition and completion you will 
know when you have arrived at the end. 
This is not difficult, since you establish the 
end before you begin. It is not necessary 
for painful exactness in the synopsis. Ours 
is a stern process of elimination. We tell 
only what the vision is, and not how to vis- 
ualize it. Ours is a story of the Play, not 
instructions how it is to be played. Yet we 
must tell nothing that cannot be played — by 
living actors and in photographic light. 

Is there a prescribed length of synopsis in 
words ? No, because the length of the synop- 
sis does not coincide with the length of the 
Photoplay. There used to be a 250-word 
length bugaboo, and writers deformed and 
decapitated their stories in a surgical effort 
to meet this law of Procrustes. If you can 
tell the complete story in two hundred and 
fifty words, well and good. But get it out 
of your head that a Photoplay is a mere Plot 
Outline. There is all the difference in the 
world between the clever dabster who can 

198 



THE READABLE SYNOPSIS 

make a Plot climb a greased pole, and the 
expert Artist who can so Emotionalize a Plot 
that the reader may instantly visualize a 
Photoplay. So, take ten thousand words, if 
you must, to give a bare Plot an individual, 
appealing, compelling, and worth-while hu- 
man life. There must be interest, complete- 
ness, and gratification, without boredom or 
surfeit. 

The synopsis must be highly readable and 
distinctly interesting, in the same esthetic 
sense that a short story is readable and in- 
teresting, if read by one other than the sce- 
nario editor. 

It is very important to know what not to 
write, but this knowledge will come alone 
with experience. 



199 



IV 
DEMONSTRATION 



While the Synopsis is the Essence 
of the Photoplay, the Working 
Scenario is the Substance; the Syn- 
opsis tells What it is, the Scenario 
Hoiv To Do It. 

CHAPTER XX 

The Working Scenario 

test of a scene; texture of ideas; scene 
and set; action and reaction; crying 
need; location and environment; inter- 
preters only; interest and coincident; 
motivation and plausibility; captions; 
technique; sequence and harmony; 
nothing static; emphatic but not ex- 
aggerated; progressive play; movement 
and action j tempo ; methods ; natural- 
ness j diagram and counterplot; use of 
dialogue. 

CONCEIVING, creating, and writing a 
fine synopsis is a Fine Art favorably 
comparable with the work of creating any of 
the other half dozen Fine Arts. Construct- 
ing a working scenario is rather a matter of 
skillful craftsmanship. The one succeeds be- 
cause the author is a genius, the other because 

203 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the writer is ingenious. The one treats of the 
Vision; the other of its incarnation. It is 
another case of architect and builder. The 
builder makes concrete the dream of the 
architect. In the first it is a vocation; in the 
second an avocation. Most architects could 
become builders ; few builders could conceive 
artistic buildings. 

We have tried to make clear the relation- 
ship between synopsis-story creators and 
working-scenario builders. We want to make 
it clearer that the Story's the thing and the 
scenario is its shadow. The scenario adds 
not one whit to the Story, it merely translates 
it into working terms. It is the cue sheet, the 
property list, the setting chart, and the stage 
manager's notes boiled down into one consec- 
utive and continuous set of directions. All 
others but the original are called upon to do 
nothing less — nor more — than rewrite the 
Story into working units, translate it into 
stage mechanics, run the Idea into celluloid. 
For the sake of example, all our references 
mean a real author and a real story. 

There are good reasons both for and 
against the author's writing the working- 
scenario of his own synopsis-story. The chief 
reason in favor of the author's writing his 
own scenario comes from the fact that scarce- 

204 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

ly one per cent of the rewrite people are 
capable of perfect interpretation. True inter- 
pretation consists in translating the identical 
thought and vision of an individual into the 
symbol, the language and the idiom of the 
great mass of people, so that they may par- 
ticipate in the identical original idea. Some 
may argue that only God and the author 
know what is in his heart. If this is true he 
can never become a Photoplay author, for no 
sphinx can possibly write a synopsis. Au- 
thors are message-bearers, and if they cannot 
express their message, then they cannot lay 
claim to the title. And if the author does lay 
bare his heart, the crying need then is for a 
proficient interpreter. The skilled artificer, 
by means of a finished Technique, can trans- 
late and interpret the complete message of one 
Fine Art into the perfect expression of any 
other Fine Art. 

(EXAMPLE 123) Thus we see "Madam Butter- 
fly" adequately translated into Music. We see 
"Trilby" gratifyingly put in the Drama. We see the 
drama of "LAiglon" perfectly interpreted by Paint- 
ing. We see the spirit of "Joan of Arc" portrayed 
in Sculpture. The Architecture of Rheims Cathe- 
dral has been done into Poetry. The beauty of 
Venus has been limned in Literature. "Just a Song 
at Twilight" and "Over the Hill to the Poorhouse" 
have been fully translated into Photodrama. 

205 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

The chief reason against the author's inter- 
preting his own Play is in the question, Why 
should he waste so much valuable time? To 
an author, there is no more gruelling work on 
record than that of dissecting the spirit of 
his well-born offspring and then putting the 
flesh and bones about it in pieces. 

Whereas our Short Story Technique cen- 
ters about a persistency toward concentration 
of scene, material, and effect, our Photoplay 
demands constant fragmentation. And as 
our synopsis-story was told in cycles, or para- 
graphic Sequences, so must the working- 
scenario fragmentize from the very outset. 
Our process is that of interweaving expres- 
sive action in such a manner that the effect 
is that of continuity. The law of the scenario 
is, that nothing shall be static ; it must be kept 
moving forward all the time. 

Fragmentation is effected by means of 
Scenes. A Scene should not be confused with 
a set. A set is a Scene that is largely arti- 
ficial. A Scene is a set, or location, plus 
action. There may be a dozen Scenes in a 
single set, shot from different angles. No 
Scene has a right to being in a given Play 
unless it is necessary. Every minute direction 
is put in the working-scenario, the least sig- 
nificant action of the characters is anticipated. 

206 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

The great point is that the right phenomena 
appear at the right time. We split up the 
action into fine particles, but so slice it as to 
make each particle react, or reflect, on its 
preceding and succeeding scenes. 

(EXAMPLE 124.) 

Scene 16 
Interior Strong Library — CLOSE VIEW 
of Isabel, who has been deserted. She espies 
the crumpled telegram lying on the floor, where 
Dave in his haste has dropped it. She picks it up 
and unfolds it on her fan. Reads. 

Scene 17. 
Interior Strong Library — INSERT 
Blank telegram outspread on fan with two hands 
holding it. 

Scene 18. 
Interior Strong Library— MIDDLE VIEW 
Isabel in her cold almost cruel rumination over 
this is interrupted by the return of Dave's mother. 

Scene 19. 
Dave's Bedroom— FULL VIEW 
Dave like a wild Indian is peeling off his evening 
togs. 

Scene 20. 
Interior Strong Parlor— FULL VIEW 
One of the guests has just finished a solo on the 
piano when Tony looks at his watch, then hurries 
to mother, saying he must go. 

207 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Scene 21. 
Interior Strong Parlor— MIDDLE VIEW 
Tony telling mother: — 

Caption 9.- "I'VE GOT TO DO A LITTLE 
SLUMMING TONIGHT FOR MY PAPER." 
Isabel in particular is interested. Etc. 

The style of writing the Scenario is natu- 
rally and effectively sketchy. We briefly 
sketch every significant motion. Yet the re- 
sultant action must fit perfectly without 
showing the joints. Nothing is brought into 
or forced on a Scene unless it Dramatically 
assists in unfolding the Story. A new Scene 
is created by the action's demand for it and 
we are instantly taken to it. It falls in so 
logically with the Sequence that no explana- 
tion is needed. This brings out an essential 
point of difference between the pretty Play 
and progressive Drama. The pretty Photo- 
play is padded with any sort of hodge-podge 
that will enhance its prettiness. Progressive 
Drama relentlessly eliminates all excess trap- 
pings regardless of their prettiness. 

The mere building of the working-scenario 
without reference to that ingenious faculty 
for the nice election of perfect Dramatic 
and interpretive symbols, is much simplified 
through the use of the diagram. Before us 
we lay our exact course of construction. The 

208 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

Lead takes the action through its cycle of 
culmination — or Part ending — while all other 
Scenes, with other characters, repeatedly 
give it zest. As the main line of Action, sym- 
bolized by the principal Character, proceeds, 
constantly we reveal simultaneous expression 
on the part of Fate and the other characters 
in Situation after Situation, heaping it on 
until the principal Character comes face to 
face with the Counterplot and a Crisis results. 

(EXAMPLE 125.) 

Scene 84. 
Interior Back Room— CLOSE VIEW 
of Joan and Dave, faces only Joan flings her- 
self away and Dave turns on Coast. 

Scene 85. 
Interior Back Room— MIDDLE VIEW 

Coast draws back and starts for Dave Joan 

expresses herself and is rewarded by a threat from 
Dave. 

Scene 86. 
Interior Back Room— FULL VIEW 

Dave has set them all aghast including Tony 

Coast tries to sneak away, when Dave seizes him, 
then calls the parson. 

Scene 87. 
Interior Back Room— MIDDLE VIEW 
Showing Dave Questioning Parson, who nervously 
answers : 

209 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

CAPTION 39-— "DAMN RIGHT I'M A MIN- 
ISTER—BUT I AIN'T AN UNDERTAKER 
TOO." 

Scene 88. 
Interior Back Room— CLOSE VIEW 
of Coast who is literally dissolved with fear. 

Scene 89. 
Interior Back Room— MIDDLE VIEW 
Showing the effect on the proprietor, who decides to 
ring up the police. 

Thus we witness in the Scenario the slow, 
sure development toward the inevitable Part 
Crises, and of these in turn toward the Cli- 
max. Every time we "cut back" to another 
scene, or another group of characters located 
even in another place, it must have some Dra- 
matic bearing on the Crisis in hand at this 
psychological moment. Again these effects 
are produced in four cases out of five through 
contrast. 

(EXAMPLE 126.) 

Scene 178. 
Interior, Joan's Flat— FULL VIEW 
Joan's zvords are too much for Dave, he turns as 
though to embrace her. Suddenly they are inter- 
rupted by a knock on the door. Joan signal's the 
words "The Cops!" on her lips. Joan fearfully 
opens the door. No one is there. 

210 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

Scene 179. 
Interior Joan's Flat— MIDDLE VIEW 
Joan and Dave are both withering under the tension 
when the meek parson s head is stuck through the 
doorway very cautiously. 

It is to be remembered that while Scenes 
and Action appear consecutively in the work- 
ing-scenario, they are seldom "made" or pro- 
duced consecutively. Scene 100 may be 
made today, and Scene 1 may be made next 
week, and Scene 240 the week after next. 
It is clear therefore that each scene must be 
a distinct unit, the full significance of which 
may be understood independent of the fore- 
going or succeeding Scenes which are Dra- 
matically inseparable from it. So — in the 
typewritten script — the line of location, tell- 
ing exactly where the Scene takes place, 
should appear at the head of every scene, 
underlined. Following that, in all capitals, 
should be stated the position from which the 
view is to be taken, or "shot." In Chapter 
XXIII will be found the typographical equiv- 
alents of these typewritten devices. To change 
the view one iota means to change the Scene, 
for a Scene technically is all that may be 
photographed without changing the position 
of the camera or stopping it. Changing the 
location and the viewpoint of the Scene is a 

211 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

happy way of giving variety and prolonging 
suspense. For the foregoing reasons, pro- 
nouns should be avoided and each character 
called by name when referred to. 

The life, vitality, and effect of the Photo- 
play scene is dependent oh change. A sense 
of unreality and "tempest-in-a-teapot" effect 
is produced when scenes are "held" too long. 
This is due largely to the mechanical fact 
that the Photoplay "stage" is a tiny area lim- 
ited by the focal lines of the camera's lens. 
We tire of watching a character, or charac- 
ters, buzz around on a ten-foot square. Rapid 
and expansive change of Scene produces the 
illusion of a roving eye moving with luxurious 
ease and magical vision over the entire little 
world ranged by our characters. The axiom 
of Photodrama is that nothing stands still. 

(EXAMPLE 127.) We describe the scenery by 
seeing it in action. The screen is as capable of pro- 
longed character study as fiction, only we witness 
it in the reflection and re-action of the Character 
against the moving and provocative panorama of 
Dramatic incidents. Thoughts, idea, philosophy, 
imagination, and spiritual struggle all may be vivid- 
ly enacted through symbols of expression in Photo- 
drama, leaving nothing within the realm of human 
experience — spiritual, physical, psychological — that 
cannot be depicted. 

212 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

How many scenes to the Part? This de- 
pends largely upon two conditions. The first 
of these is the story tempo. A lively farce 
will step along so rapidly that no scene will 
be as long as a minute in length, most of them 
taking but a few seconds. Thus a five-Part 
farce may exceed 600 scenes. A dignified 
character Drama, the effects of which are 
heightened by character deliberation, may 
need but 200 scenes. The second considera- 
tion concerns the personal producing method 
of the director. Some directors cut up their 
script into tiny particles, constantly cutting 
back to previous or counter Scene, and 
shooting the Scenes from rapidly changing 
angles and making frequent and repeated 
closeviews. Thus it may be seen that the 
number of scenes to employ comes as a mat- 
ter of Technical and personal experience. 

Provided the script is O. K., the director's 
function is to bring out every ounce of Dra- 
matic power that lies in the Story, employing 
every artifice of acting, every effect of light 
and shade, all available aids of location and 
setting and every mechanical means for stim- 
ulating and simulating naturalness and reality. 
However, the director should not be permit- 
ted to change, fundamentally, any script with- 
out the conviction, consent, and readjustment 

213 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

by the author. For many years there have 
been valid reasons for directors making 
changes in manuscripts, and much credit is 
due the genius of directors who have made 
numberless silk purses out of sows' ears. But 
that sort of thing must cease with the creation 
of a school of authors and scenarioists who 
know what Photodrama really is and master 
the difficult craft of writing it. Directors and 
actors are interpreters only and if — together 
with writers — each will study and perfect his 
own part, it is bound to result in a perfect 
whole. The too resourceful director often has 
been in the habit of perverting the Story his 
way when it was the author's vision to have it 
quite the reverse. Seldom do producers ac- 
tually produce the Story that had tempted 
them to the point of paying a large sum of 
money for it, chiefly because of willful mis- 
interpretation somewhere along the line. 

Take the small matter of location or setting. 
The smallest inconsistency between condition 
and environment — the outside of the house 
with the inside, for instance — will shatter the 
audience's conviction. The physical habili- 
ments of the Play must be true to type to 
avoid discord. Harmony is nothing more 
than naturalness, or consistency between 
Character, Environment, and Action. 

214 



THE WORKING SCENARIO 

(EXAMPLE 128.) Almost daily we see such 
discrepancies on the screen as: A priest saying mass 
without alb or chasuble ; a judge usurping the part 
of state's attorney; a surgeon operating with bare 
hands — and so on. All little mis-mechanics that 
must appear correctly in the working scenario. 

There are directors who scan a script super- 
ciliously and then proceed to produce with- 
out the working-scenario, or other aid outside 
their omnipotent brains ! This single-track, 
autocratic crew are justified in their claims 
for entire screen credit for the results. They 
belong with Nero and other egoists who burn 
their empire with gusto that they may have a 
famous setting for singing their own praises. 

We have discussed the functions of the 
working-scenario in brief only, feeling that a 
deeper analysis of the subject might tend to 
divert the espoused purpose of this volume, 
which is to elucidate the author's relation to 
the Photodrama. The working-scenario steps 
quite entirely out of the field of true creation 
into those of collaboration and interpreta- 
tion.* 

* A future volume in the Author's Hand-Book Series will 
undertake the subject of "The Working Scenario — A 
Practical Treatise," by the same author. 



215 



A Character we meet in Fiction, 
Drama, or Photo drama should be- 
come more Real than one zve meet 
in Flesh and Blood; for the One's 
Soul is laid Bare with every Desire, 
Ambition, and Motive revealed, 
zvhile the Other's Face, Hand, and 
Say-so is all zve ever knozv of his 
Soul. 

CHAPTER XXI 

Several Effective Casts 

"the romance of a self-made widow"; 
"the princess from the poorhouse"; 
"heiress for a day/' 

THE following Photoplay was produced 
under the title of "The Self-Made 
Widow," by the World Film Corporation 
with Alice Brady in the title role. 

(EXAMPLE 129.) 

THE ROMANCE OF 

A SELF-MADE WIDOW 

A Comedy Drama in Five Parts 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 



CHARACTERS 

SYLVIA SMITH (Lead) She is the 

ultra-romanticist in word and deed; she projects 

216 



EFFECTIVE CASTS 

herself into an imagined world until it becomes 
more real, and above all more alluring, than the 
actual world of the drab country town of Blue 
Bank; her conversation consists in the main of her 
adventures, romances, and experiences with her 
day-dream people; in the opinion of the unimagina- 
tive townspeople she is a plain LIAR; but she has 
not a malicious, dishonest, or unwholesome thought 
in her make-up ; what happens of a romantic nature 
she tacitly accepts as though it were the decree of 
some romantic god; naturally she would retain few 
friends among the women of the town; for the 
men of Blue Bank she has little concern, though 
she is continually courted, for they are too dull in 
comparison with the brilliant males of her dreams; 
thus she shuns Life to cultivate an imagined para- 
dise. 

FITZHUGH CASTLETON A pampered 

young scion of wealth; he is sole heir of a big 
estate and fortune; but he is stalwart and normal 
and longs for the things that stalwart and normal 
men do; thus he comes to have abnormal desires 
for abnormal experience; he wants to throw off all 
the very things that Sylvia most desires, and is 4 
ready to take the first opportunity to do so and to 
flee to the open arms of adventure; he comes to 
love Sylvia for the same reason other men shunned 
her; namely, the glamour of romance that hovered 
about her and the adventure into which she had 
cast herself; and so he goes the world over seeking 
a rich adventure and fails, only to find it within 
his own mansion that he had left because is was so 
dull. 

LYDIA VAN DU SEN..... Likewise a scion of 
wealth, and Fitzhugh's neighbor; she is masculine 

217 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

and loves masculine and daring men, hence her 
early repugnance for Fitzhugh, to whom she has 
been engaged for years; she comes to love Bobs 
for these reasons. 

BOBS, THE BLACKSMITH A sailor and 

blacksmith aboard ship by trade, but a gentleman 
by preferment; he has great difficulty in learning 
the etiquette of the gentleman, but is so good-na- 
tured about it that no one objects except Lydia's 
austere mother. 

BUTTS, THE BUTLER Fitzhugh has been 

left alone in the world in charge of Butts; while he 
adores Fitzhugh, yet he believes in bringing him up 
in the pampered way regardless of rebellion; he 
becomes general manager of the household during 
his master's lamented absence. 

MRS. TOOTLE Sylvia's staunch friend; she 

alone believes all that Sylvia says, although she*, 
hears only a small portion of it through her ear* 
trumpet; and Sylvia tells her everything; she id 
very belligerent and has a provoking and ludicrous 
way of misinterpreting half the things that people 
attempt to tell her; she assumes regal bearing on her 
sudden access of riches; she takes violent likes and'- 
dislikes. » 

MRS. VAN DUSEN The cold aristocrat;* 

she disapproves of almost everything, so that her* 
opinion may be indisputable ; everything common if 
doomed; her daughter and she never agree on any-* 
thing; she tries in vain to freeze Mrs. Tootle, who* 
not being able to hear her well modulated voice} 
does not understand what it is all about; and Mr; 
Bobs is too genial to be frosted by her. 

CROSBY A good looking though obviously 

sporty crook; his particular accomplishment is for-'- 

218 



EFFECTIVE CASTS 

9 e *"$> for h e can imitate any one's handwriting ; he 
marries Sylvia. 

MRS. CROSBY..... A catty little blonde of the 
chorus-girl variety; jealous and suspicious. 
OUTLINE 
Part I. — The Quest of Romance 
Part II.— To the Depths of the Sea 
Part III. — To the Ends of the Earth 
Part IV. — The Exhaustion of Riches 
Part V. — The Gates of Eden 
Here follows the synopsis. 
Note — The above is a romantic Comedy Drama, 
so that much of the comedy note and spirit is in- 
jected into the cast itsjelf. It all aids the casting 
director in quickly and accurately choosing his 
types. 



The following Photoplay, "The Princess 
From the Poorhouse/' was produced under 
the title of "The Royal Pauper" with Fran- 
cine Larrimore in the title role. 

(EXAMPLE 130.) 

THE PRINCESS FROM THE POORHOUSE 

A Poetic and Romantic Drama 

(A Modern Fairy Story in Five Parts) 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

TIME: The Present. 

PLACE: A Mill Town; a City; a large Estate; a 
rolling Country. 

CHARACTERS 
THE PRINCESS Irene (Lead) Lit- 
tle orphan of unknown origin who has grown up in 

219 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

the poorhouse; she is the sunshine of all she meets; 
a child of rare fancy, which she has fed chiefly from 
the pages of a worn fairy-tale book that has fallen 
into her hands; with a strange persistence she be- 
lieves in fairies and makes her chosen court followers 
believe in them too; she makes over that portion of 
the world and life she enters, into a modem fairy- 
land; her influence seems potent in its parallel to 
enchantment herself; even after the childish fancy 
disappears there still remains the belief in the power, 
of fairies; she is no automaton in this realm, but 
the moving spirit who enchants, brings happiness, 
dissipates sorrow, performs miracles, dispels evil 
spirits, and breaks wicked spells; she is the soul of 
szoeetness and above suspicion and reproach; she is 
gifted with gentleness and grace that gives her 
regal majesty on all occasions. 

PRINCE CHARMING William the Conquer- 
or Whom we see first as a court follower in 

the poorhouse ; through fondness for the Princess 
he is won over to the cause and admitted to the 
charmed circle; he is never quite able to throw off 
the charm — especially of the Princess; adoration 
becomes love; he is endowed with an indomitable 
will that later conquers all things and forces him 
through the Tangled Forest; what he believes, that 
he acquires; as an inventor he performs the great 
miracle. 

THE KING Old Man Muggins A pauper 

who has been so long in the poorhouse that he has 
become childish and is a little below Irene and Wil- 
liam in intelligence; he implicitly believes all things 
the Princess says; he goes about in rags and tatters, 
and is possessed of a great shock of grizzled hair 
and beard; he has a cunning manner of seeming to 

220 



EFFECTIVE CASTS 

be over-bright by squinting his eyes and cocking his 
head to one side when contemplating anything; he 
is suspicious of all people except the Princess. 

FLANDERS A Hound Dog The insep- 
arable companion of the King. 

THE FAIRY GODMOTHER Mrs. Chan- 
dler The sweet, gentle but abused wife' of 

Chandler; lonely amidst riches and wishing for a 
child. 

THE OGRE Chandler The cruel lord 

of all he surveys; a tyrant and an oppressor; lives 
only amidst his business thoughts, which too are 
oppressive ; loves neither man nor beast; forbid- 
ding and sinister in appearance; owner of the great 
weaving mills that have cornered the market and 
crushed the workers. 

THE WICKED SUITOR Carruthers 

A dashing, handsome villain in love with Irene and 
her money; bewitched by the Princess. 

THE WITCH Mrs. Bunty Manager of 

the paupers; ugly and up to all the specifications of 
a typical witch; hooked nose, deepset eyes, talons, 
and is harsh. 

THE POOR WOODCUTTER Mr. McCarty 

Frail, kindly; works in the mills woodyard. 

THE WOODCUTTER'S WIFE Mrs. Mc- 
Carty Whose only discontent in life is that she 

has no children; whose by-word is "Sacrifice" ; love 

IS Yl£Y CYCSd 

OTHER CHARACTERS Ad lib. 



MOTIF : That in Life there is often a parallel of 
romance equal to the most fanciful fairy tale, and 
that all things are his or hers whose Faith is strong 
enough to Believe. 

221 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

OUTLINE 
Part I. — The Valley of Enchantment 
Part II. — The Castle of Discord 
Part III. — A Miracle Comes to Pass 
Part IV. — The Treasure That Was Bewitched 
Part V. — The Coming of the Real Prince 

Note. — All the suggestive glamour of the fairy 
tale is thrown about the characters in the hope that 
they will inhale and exude it. 

The following Photoplay, "Heiress For A 
Day," was produced with Olive Thomas in 
the title role. 

(EXAMPLE 131.) 

HEIRESS FOR A DAY 

A Dramatic Comedy of Modern Society 

in Five Parts 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

CHARACTERS 

HELEN THURSTON Heiress for a Day 

Manicurist in the barber shop of the Grand 

Hotel; a spirited girl inheriting her parent's desire 
to possess and spend money, although circumstances 
hold her down to the grindstone of hard work and 
little pay; she hates coercion and insincerity and 
yet falls a victim to both; she seeks the love of 
THE man, disdaining flirtation as being sacrilegious. 

JACK STANDRING Heir to a Million 

Very serious young man who cannot stand 

the artificial young women of his set; he hates any- 
thing artificial or fraudulent ; he shuns the women 

222 



EFFECTIVE CASTS 

of society, yet is honestly attracted to Helen because 
of her genuineness; as he loves her for her sim- 
plicity, so he comes almost to lose that love because 
of her feigned duplicity. 

SPINDRIFT A. Prospective Heir Man 

about Town of unsavory record; loves Helen, yet 
is willing to sacrifice her to attain his own ends. 

OLD HODGES ....A Multimillionaire .... Helen's 
rejected grandfather; crusty old man with no 
liking for either Helen or his nephew, Spindrift, 
whom he thinks are after his money; he realises 
that these two are his sole heirs, however, and 
must get it, so he sets a trap, hoping both will cheat 
themselves out of it. 

MRS. STANDRING Millionaire Jack's 

mother; who not only guards Jack but is constantly 
trying to make an advantageous match. 

MISS ANTRIM Who Seeks to Marry an 

Heir An ambitious, scheming adventuress who 

is after Jack's heart and his money. 



OUTLINE 
Part I. — Where There's a Will 
Part II. — There's a Way 
Part III. — She Who Dances 
Part IV.— The Piper Must Be Paid 
Part V. — An Heiress and Then Some 
The Synopsis follows. 
Note. — Thus it may be gathered that the casting 
director and the actors themselves may discern from 
almost a single glance not only the qualities of the 
character they are called upon to become, but the 
entire emotional significance and course of their 
part throughout the Play. 

223 



The Synopsis is a Photoplay's Soul, 
Created and Athrob with all the Po- 
tentialities of a Complete Cycle of 
Life ready to take its place among 
the Prime Experiences of a Genera- 
tion the Moment a Body is made for 
it in which to step out of the Realm 
of the Imagination into the World's 
Playhouse. 

CHAPTER XXII 

An Accepted Synopsis 

"Pierre Le Grand" 

THE following complete Synopsis is 
printed just as it was written and ac- 
cepted. With few exceptions, it will be found 
as a model for the foregoing discussion and 
examples. It is suggested that it be studied 
and reviewed as an exemplification of every 
paragraph of the text. Herein we find an ex- 
ample of the fully extended script. Every 
thought in the play has been given full reign 
to leave no room for misunderstanding. 

A seven-Part example has been chosen in 
preference to a five-part, because it is possible 
to demonstrate the Feature Photoplay and its 
superior construction more fully by taking an 

224 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

example that includes the five-Part play and 
adds two more Parts. We thus illustrate the 
principle of Part-building when applied to 
more than five Parts. So we solve additional 
problems in a practical, commercial demon- 
stration. 

"Pierre Le Grand" was produced under the 
title of "Heart Strings," with William Far- 
num in the title role. The play was emascu- 
lated, however, of all virility by eliminating 
its sterner aspects and substituting sentimen- 
tality. The result therefore could scarcely 
be said to be the play the author wrote. 

(EXAMPLE 132.) 

Henry Albert Phillips All Fiction and Dramatic 

The Lambs Club Rights Reserved 

New York City, N. Y. By the Author 

PIERRE LE GRAND 

An Emotional Drama with Pathos and Comedy — 

In Seven Parts 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

THE MOTIF: There are Great Hearts— like 
Fixed Stars — which though storms may rage that 
cloud the Horizon and threaten their very Existence, 
shine and smile ever on, guiding Weaker Mortals 
in their Upward Climb. 

CHARACTERS 

PIERRE FONTANELLE A Grand Figure 

among the simpler French people of Old Quebec; 

225 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

he is a potential Musician and Composer of rare 
ability, with a cherished Dream of Musical Fame 
in the Secret Garden of his heart; but he is Dream- 
er rather than Doer, and has none of the harsher 
traits of commercial Ambition; yet he is the sub- 
limer Doer when it comes to Sacrifice for others — 
especially his little sister, Gabriele; he is emotional 
and always ready to dream his Dream but needs a 
force to push him on to action ; he is gentleness 
personified, and part of his creed is an abhorrence 
to violence and combat, which makes his enemy 
think him a coward; withal, he is intensely human 
and, baited beyond endurance, turns upon his tor- 
mentor with a ferocity such as only the long-suf- 
fering are capable of. 

OLD LA TOUCHE A Doer with other 

men's Dreams; Pierre's best friend and "discover- 
er" ; a mass of ceaseless energy, gesticulations, 
harmless ferocity and big-heartedness ; he is all for 
business ; he sees a chance to become famous by 
making another man famous; he is an eternal bore 
and domineering "manager" of everything he comes 
in contact with; yet he is impressive, and actually 
makes people do the things he intends them to do 
and they don't intend to do ; he is bombastic and 
blustery and is always ready to take the foreground 
and settle the affairs of the fishmonger or the na- 
tion ; yet in the last analysis his affairs seem to 
bungle, though he is not conscious of his failure 
and lives on the glory of conquest. 

GABRIELE Pierre's weak little sister; while 

she loves her brother, her devotion to Le Boeuf 
amounts to an obsession that will carry her any 
lengths ; Le Boeuf controls and compels every 
thought and act in her early life. 

226 






AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

LE BOEUF A big handsome reprobate; he 

has little heart or soul; while his feeling for Ga- 
briele is real in the beginning, his desire for money 
is always greater and he uses her as a tool or a 
stepping stone to pelf. 

ALVA BLASHFIELD A typical New York 

society girl who is drifting with the tide of her 
caste; she has her pronounced tastes, chief among 
which is music; she is ready to marry Blake, who is 
very wealthy and years older than herself, if he 
will let her and her tastes alone; she holds herself 
aloof from all things and submits to all cold con- 
ventions until she meets Pierre; he then becomes 
part of the inner life that will never die and which 
Blake can never touch or comprehend. 

BLAKE A phlegmatic society man, well 

along in years, who is annoyed by anything uncon- 
ventional; he looks upon Alva as a chattel and re- 
sents the invasion of Pierre. 

AN OUTLINE OF THE PARTS OF THE PLAY 

Part I.— A Dream of Youth 
Part II.— The Beautiful Lie 
Part III.— The Dread Spectre 
Part IV. — The Blessed Demoiselle 
Part V. — The Sublime Sacrifice 
Part VI. — The Supreme Struggle 
Part VII. — The Embers of a Dream 

Part I.— THE DREAM OF YOUTH 

We first meet Pierre playing in a field where 
country people have come out for a holiday and 
to dance. They are dancing a quaint folk dance 

227 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

that has been long ago imported to French-Canada 
from their dear France. On Pierre's face is that 
wonderful smile that is known all over the Prov- 
ince, but in his eyes we can see a faraway Dream 
that he is living that moment. Occasionally some- 
one drops a coin in the hat by his side, or children 
come and caress his arm, and then he directs that 
sunny smile on them for an instant only. 

La Touche is coming along the road in a queer 
cart known to Quebec, loaded with merchandise. 
He stops his horse and looks on a moment, and 
then recognizes Pierre, and his face lights up and 
he gets down, adjusts himself for a dignified entry 
among the yokels whom he literally pushes aside, 
and makes a swath straight for Pierre, at once be- 
coming per force and audacity the central figure. 
The playing is stopped and consequently the dance. 
They greet with mutual effusion : "MON DIEU, 
DREAMER, YOU STILL PLAY TO THE YO- 
KELS OF THE PROVINCE WHEN YOU HAVE 
PROMISED ME YOU WOULD GO TO PARIS 
AND LEARN TO ENTHRALL THE WORLD!" 
La Touche thus reproves Pierre, who regards him 
with a look of pain, and then proceeds to explain, 
and La Touche deliberately takes him away with 
him in his little cart. 

Gabriele at home is pleading with her lover Le 
Boeuf to take her with him, but he tells her he 
cannot yet. Suddenly she espies Pierre coming down 
the road with La Touche, and fearfully hustles Le 
Boeuf from the house, he smiling cynically at her 
thought of danger to him. 

Pierre enters, now thoroughly inflamed with the 
vision that La Touche is branding on his soul. He 
catches Gabriele joyously to him : "AND HERE IS 

228 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

MA PETITE GABRIELE— SHE IS THE BEST 
PART OF MY LIFE— WHEN I GO TO PARIS 
SHE MUST COME TOO." La Touche signifies, 
of course. Gabriele gives a frightened look and 
goes pensively to a corner while the men continue 
to plan. Pierre empties his pockets of coins, giving 
the largest to Gabriele. La Touche counts them. 
Pierre lifts the tile in front of the fireplace and 
takes out a bag of gold and together he and La 
Touche count it. "LET US SAY, IN A MONTH 
FROM TODAY THE FUND I HAVE BEEN 
SAVING FOR FIVE YEARS WILL BE COM- 
PLETE, AND THEN I WILL BE READY TO 
GO!" 

We see Le Boeuf being put out of his uncle's 
house. He is telling the servant: "MY NEPHEW 
IS A RASCAL— YOU WILL SEE THAT HE 
NEVER ENTERS MY HOUSE AGAIN." Le 
Boeuf leaves with his ever-cynical smile, and we 
see him enter a gambling place and produce a thick 
roll of bills and join the game. 

The Day marking the end of the month when 
Pierre said he would have his Five- Year Fund 
complete we find him about to be totally surprised 
through the efforts of La Touche who has gathered 
all his neighbors and friends for miles around. 
Gabriele is in on this secret and has invited Le 
Boeuf, who comes with his cynical smile. 

Pierre's attention is attracted elsewhere and La 
Touche forms the people outside like a procession 
and then they suddenly burst in with all the simple 
joy of their type. La Touche the practical and 
commercial takes a bowl and puts it on the table 
and makes each one put a coin in. In fact, he is 
busy in every part of the room marshalling, com- 

229 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

manding, interfering, reprimanding, and letting no 
one have a thought of their own in the matter. He 
pulls a piece of paper from his pocket on which 
he has jotted the program he has arranged. First 
the ladies through a dumpy spokeswoman present 
a typical Frenchy artificial bouquet. In the midst 
of her speech La Touche yanks her away and takes 
the floor, but not before she has embraced the shy 
Pierre. Then follows a quartet of four over- 
dressed yokels whom La Touche attempts to lead 
in vain. The result is a startling exhibition that 
makes La Touche perspire freely. Pierre is fright- 
ened and pained at the so-called music. 

La Touche now steps forward to make a presenta- 
tion Speech which he has written down and has 
great difficulty in reading. Pierre awkwardly listens 
and then is soon immersed, as all are, in the vivid 
presentment of the things he is going to do, La 
Touche acting out how he will play, how the audi- 
ences will respond, and taking in turn the parts of 
all the episodes of his Fame Period. But the speech 
is so long that old ladies sleep, children play, and 
the youths gape in vain, though all remain in 
agonized solemnity. 

Le Boeuf stands regarding the whole adventure 
with wearied contemptuousness, most of all Pierre, 
whom he considers a big softy. Gabriele has sought 
his side and endeavors to cling to him. The other 
guests regard him with dislike. 

At last comes the Presentation of the gold- 
mounted Baton: " WITH WHICH SOME 

DAY MON AMI PIERRE— FONTANELLE LE 
GRAND THEY SHALL CALL HIM— WILL 
LEAD THE ORCHESTRA AS IT PLAYS ONE 
OF HIS OWN COMPOSITIONS!" There is 

230 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

loud applause that rudely awakens the sleepers in 
alarm and Pierre the Dreamer takes the baton 
tremulously in his hand. He cannot speak, but his 
smile tells them what is in his full heart. At length 
he says: "WHEN I RETURN FROM PARIS— 
WHERE I SHALL STUDY UNDER THE FA- 
MOUS MAITRE DUPRE— IT IS FOR YOU— 
FIRST OF ALL— I SHALL PLAY MY COMPO- 
SITIONS !" Then he plays for them and stirs 
their souls. 

Formalities over, La Touche again seizes the 
reins and proposes a toast and all raise glasses. 
Pierre has seen Gabriele intimately standing by 
Le Boeuf for the first time and calls her. She tries 
in vain to have Le Boeuf come with her. La 
Touche stands on a chair and all raise their glasses 
enthusiastically except Le Boeuf. Pierre says to 
Gabriele: "THIS IS THE LAST TIME YOU 
AND I SHALL SEE OUR DEAR FRIENDS, SO 
LET US SAY FAREWELL TOGETHER!" Sev- 
eral times he glances uneasily at the handsome big 
fellow with the curled lip. 

La Touche cries: "TO THE COMING 
GREAT MASTER OF MUSIC— FONTANELLE 
LE GRAND !" All are about to drink when sev- 
eral policemen appear at the exits with Le Boeuf's 
uncle. The company put down glasses that are 
never drunk. Le Boeuf attempts to slink away, 
when he is pointed out and seized. A sigh of relief 
goes up, which is dispelled the next moment by 
Gabriele, who breaks from her brother's side and 
throws her arms about Le Boeuf. 

Pierre in soul agony over the terrible truth be- 
hind it all, demands of Le Boeuf an explanation. 
Le Boeuf smiles defiantly and tells them to ask 

231 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Gabriele. But Gabriele has swooned. Pierre, 
tragedy and determination in his eyes, tells them 
to bring the prisoner and tenderly carries Gabriele 
into another room. 

La Touche disperses the crowd just after a phy- 
sician is called from among them. The uncle is 
telling Pierre the story: "THE RASCAL MUST 
GO TO PRISON UNLESS HE PAYS BACK 
THE THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS HE 
HAS STOLEN FROM MY SAFE!" Pierre is 
called in the next room by the doctor. "SHE IS 
VERY ILL— HER LIFE HANGS ON A 
THREAD— SHE IS ABOUT TO BECOME A 
MOTHER!" 

Pierre is struck to the heart. He staggers to the 
dividing curtain and approaches Le Boeuf with a 
look that for a moment gives him misgivings. He 
goes up as though to throttle Le Boeuf, just as Ga- 
briele's cry of fear arrests Pierre. She has come 
to and seen this. Then Le Boeuf hastens to ex- 
plain: "IS IT THEN A CRIME THAT MY 
WIFE SHOULD BECOME A MOTHER?" All 
are skeptical, and Le Boeuf with his evil smile 
again produces his wedding certificate from his 
inner pocket. 

Le Boeuf is then yanked away by the officers 
and Pierre is left standing there. It is Gabriele's 
weak little voice that reawakens him to her peril. 
He puts his ear down : "TF THEY SEND HIM TO 
PRISON I SHALL DIE!" Pierre turns a startled 
look. Then suddenly the smile breaks on his face 
He goes to the fireplace and gets out the bag and 
shows it to her. She understands. He empties the 
cash into his pockets and hurries out. 

Pierre arrives at the police court just as the 

232 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 



magistrate is about to send Le Boeuf to jail. 
Pierre gives the astonished uncle the money. They 
count it and give him back a few pieces. Le Boeuf 
is discharged, laughing loudly as he exits uncom- 
prehendingly and thinking Pierre did it out of fear 
of him. The money that was to have bought a 
Dream has saved the Life of his Beloved and let 
loose a Devil destined to destroy most of the Pre- 
cious things to come — but not all. 

PART II.— THE BEAUTIFUL LIE 

Pierre returns to the cottage to find Gabriele a 
premature Mother and seemingly dying. They 
make a great fight for her life. They take Pierre 
out. Then in the agonized hours of the night that 
follows he prays and what he prays he plays and 
so composes his wonderful "Prayer Sonata." 

Neighbors open their windows and listen with 
clasped hands. Passersby pause and sigh. Pierre 
concludes in a return to belief in a Great God and 
His goodness with the tears streaming down his 
face. 

Gabriele, too, vaguely senses it and feebly keeps 
time. Doctor tells him to come and say goodbye, 
but when they arrive there is a turn for the better. 

Gabriele gets slowly better. And something new 
enters Pierre's life — it is little Pierre, the mite that 
Gabriele has mothered. Pierre in his sister's hour 
of trial and in his big-hearted childish efforts to 
divert her, puts aside his own Great Sorrow com- 
pletely, and is Pierre of the Sweet Smile again. 
Little, tender, and over-delicate Pierre he plays with 
and croons to hours at a time, and so the little 
thing comes to nestle in his heart and bring him 
true joy. 



233 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Old La Touche meets him again and asks in 
surprise why it is that he has not gone to Paris: 
Pierre says: "ASK MECHANTE GABRIELE— A 
LITTLE HAPPINESS OF HERS HAS DE- 
TAINED US A LITTLE." 

Gabriele is wan and impatient and does nothing 
but yearn for Le Boeuf, the father of her child, and 
it stabs Pierre to the heart to think that she still 
yearns for him with her brother and her child by 
her side. She spends most of her time at the win- 
dow watching and waitiag. At length she cannot 
any longer resist Pierre's big-hearted appeals and 
they become a gloriously happy group. He is 
again Pierre the Light-hearted and begins again to 
build a Paris Fund. 

Le Boeuf has become a downright crook. A con- 
ference among him and some of his thieving com- 
panions has brought out the fact that they need to 
protect themselves and their pelf through having a 
woman about as a "fence." Le Boeuf then thinks 
of his Gabriele: "WHAT WE NEED IS A 
WOMAN ABOUT AS A 'FENCE' FOR OUR 
OPERATIONS— I'LL HAVE HER HERE TO- 
MORROW." 

Gabriele is startled into ecstasy when Le Boeuf 
appears. He is half agreeable and she is sicken- 
ingly adoring. He tells her that he has provided 
a home for her. She brings their child, which sets 
him aghast and perplexes him for a moment. She 
wants to wait for Pierre, but Le Boeuf is insistent 
and makes a feint to leave and then she quickly 
writes a note : "MY LE BOEUF HAS COME FOR 

ME AS HE PROMISED COME TO SEE US 

OFTEN, MON GRAND FRERE I AM SO 

HAPPY " 

234 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

Pierre too has spent a happy day. He comes 
home singing and with an armful of gifts for his 
darlings. He thinks at first that they are playing 
hide and seek. Then he finds the note. His big 
heart is shaken as he walks the floor, futilely whis- 
pering: "MON PETIT PIERRE! MA PETITE 
GABRIELE!" Then he seizes a little sock that 
has dropped, which he holds to his breast. Again 
he plays his Prayer Sonata. 

La Touche has dropped in to drink with some 
friends in the Quarter whom he treats liberally, 
having made himself a great man by having made 
another man famous. He remarks : "WHO 
KNOWS— PERHAPS MY BELOVED PIERRE 
IS ALREADY FONTANELLE LE GRAND!" 
At which moment the inimitable strains of Pierre's 
melody reaches their ears. The company laughs 
at La Touche, who scowls and stalks out. He ap- 
pears before Pierre in a stormy mood. "TIENS ! 
WHY DO YOU NOT HURRY AND BECOME 
'FAMOUS AS I HAVE PROMISED— YOU 
MAKE ME RIDICULOUS!" 

It is always La Touche that gives balm to 
Pierre's wounds and brings him back within the 
thrall of his dear Dream again. His sweet smile 
reappears, though a curtain of sadness has been 
lowered behind it. He gets a bottle of wine and 
soon they are immersed in a new plan for the dream 
o^ Fame. La Touche picks up the little sock when 
Pierre is out of the room. It gives him some an- 
noyance as he thinks he smells a rat: "CHERCHEZ 
LAFEMME! YET SHE SHALL NOT ROB US 
OF FAME." As he is leaving Pierre promises : 
"SOON MA PETITE GABRIELE WILL RE- 
TURN—THEN I SHALL BE VERY HAPPY 

235 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

AND VOILA! AT ONCE WE SHALL ALL GO!" 

But Gabriele does not return, for she still wor- 
ships and clings to the handsome brute who alter- 
nately pets and maltreats her. Each week Pierre 
sorrowfully though smilingly goes to visit her and, 
seeing her want, leaves money. He sees that to 
interfere will mean inevitable tragedy. 

Le Boeuf sees in Pierre's non-interference only 
cowardliness. At length on one of his visits Pierre 
finds the little frail Pierre dead in his mother's 
arms. This time Le Boeuf drives him from the 
house, when he would turn on him, and it is Ga- 
briele who interferes and beseeches him to go. 

The secret Police visit Gabriele and make a search 
of the place and find a large quantity of pelf. They 
then set a trap for Le Boeuf, who eludes them and 
gets in and learns the truth. He is mad with rage 
and flings the cowering Gabriele out of the door 
where she stumbles and falls down the rickety 
stairs. Le Boeuf finds her a mass of inert flesh. 
She seems to be dead, and with real fear written 
on his face he slinks away in the darkness just as 
the watching policeman comes up. 

Pierre is sent for and he comes to find his little 
Gabriele with her hip badly broken. We see some- 
thing new in Pierre for the first time, that resembles 
a wild lion of vengeance. Instead of a smiling, sen- 
timental musician, he becomes a scowling, blood- 
thirsty brute. But to no avail, he cannot find Le 
Boeuf. 

Gabriele does not die, but instead emerges from 
it a helpless cripple. The smile slowly returns. But 
Gabriele has seen Pierre's strange look. Her first 
anxious thought has been for Le Boeuf and she 
calls Pierre and asks: "OH, PIERRE, YOU DID 

236 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

NOT HURT HIM— YOU DID NOT—" Again 
and with a twinge of pain he sees how things lie 
and he has to promise Gabriele that he never will 
hurt him: "THEN, MY GABRIELE, WE MUST 
LEAVE QUEBEC— CANADA— RUN AWAY 
FROM HIM— ELSE I CANNOT KEEP MY 
HANDS FROM— FROM— " He goes through the 
motions of throttling, but Gabriele's horrified look 
slops him. He smiles piteously and kneels con- 
tritely, asking her to forgive him. Their predica- 
ment is critical, for Gabriele's expenses have ex- 
hausted all their funds. Then the bright hope of 
his life "LA TOUCHE!" flashes through his mind 
and he writes him. 

La Touche, with a gingham apron on, is bossing 
everyone within half a mile of his confiserie in 
Papineauville when he receives Pierre's letter. At 
once he is blusteringly angry and doffs his apron 
and starts down to <jive Pierre a piece of his mind. 
He blusters in: "MON DFEU! YOU ARE YET 
HERE! MUST I BECOME A CLOWN FOR 
THE PEOPLE BECAUSE YOU ARE A SNAIL!" 
On seeing the plight of poor Gabriele he is at once 
softened. When told the truth he cannot under- 
stand all, but asks him why he does not sell his 
precious violin: "NON, MON AMI, THIS IS 
WORTH MORE THAN A MAN'S LIFE TO 
ME— FOR A CENTURY MY FAMILY HAS 
SACRIFICED ALL BUT LIFE ITSELF TO 
PASS IT ON." 

They puzzle over the problem and then La 
Touche gets the brilliant idea: "VOILA, I HAVE 
IT— OUR FAME IS ASSURED! I SHALL BE- 
COME YOUR IMPRESARIO! YOU WILL GO 
TO NEW YORK! I WILL SELL MY CON- 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

FISERIE AND JOIN YOU!" He then gives 
Pierre funds and their plan is ready to begin at 
least. 

PART III.— THE DREAD SPECTRE 

Thus Pierre and Gabriele come to New York and 
by chance land in the artist colony in Greenwich 
Village. They are assisted in getting to rights by 
several of the frayed-out types who dwell in the 
converted mansion they take two rooms in. Pierre 
protests especially when an old Dreamer who has 
dreamed in vain actually brings them in victuals, 
and he tells them prophetically: "I HAVE BEEN 
HERE SEEKING FAME THIRTY YEARS— 
MY POCKETS WILL BE EMPTY AGAIN TO- 
MORROW, THEN YOU WILL HELP ME." 
Thus we show the spiritual and mutual aid and 
poverty among the Clan of the High Art — always 
hopeful; up today, down tomorrow; gambling on 
Fame ; seizing at straws ; spending sleepless nights, 
but their days peopled with glorious Dreams or dire 
Want. But nothing can now seem to dampen 
Pierre's vision of Fame. He is sure that he is very 
near to it now. 

Pierre starts out with a high heart and boldly 
assaults the highest musical centers. He seeks a 
try-out at the Metropolitan Opera, the famous or- 
chestras, the theaters, the palatial photoplay houses 
—all in vain. One tells him : "FOR GOD'S SAKE 
GIT OUT O' HERE AND GIVE OUR NEW OR- 
CHESTRION A CHANCE TO PLAY, WILL 
YOU?" So they bully him and throw him out. 

Gabriele is very morose and Pierre has the 
double task of lying to her and pretending. 

233 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

At length all the money is gone. Then Pierre 
tries playing on the streets, is passed coldly by, and 
finally he is roughly arrested by a policeman who 
nearly throttles him for not having a license to beg 
and showing no disposition to hand out graft. 
Each night he throws the supposed proceeds of 
the day into Gabriele's lap. Each day the pile 
grows smaller, for his little Gabriele must live 
and live well for she is so delicate and unhappy. 
He eats next to nothing and daily grows weaker 
from hunger. 

The old Artist drops in again one day and reads 
the truth in Pierre's emaciated face: "DON'T BE 
DISCOURAGED— FAME IS JUST PLAYING 
YOU ONE OF HER TRICKS— I'VE BEEN 
SPEAKING TO A FRIEND OF MINE WHO 
NEEDS A MUSICIAN." 

The whole complexion of affairs is at once 
changed for the emotional Pierre. He informs 
Gabriele that he is now about to achieve fame in 
truth tomorrow, and he buys a bottle of wine with 
his last penny and invites the old Artist to share 
it with him and the two of them cross the portal 
of Dreams, and one would think that they had their 
Desire. He plays and soon others drop in to join 
them and Gabriele too takes on something of the 
Myth. 

But the Job proves to be a miserable affair. It 
is a "red ink joint" in a dingy basement where the 
old Artist comes to tipple because of its cheapness. 
Here Pierre has to play in accompaniment to a 
blowsy woman pianist and a sour piccolo player 
whose music saws his artistic soul raw. They have 
no idea of how to play well and blame their mis- 
takes on Pierre. Between all these circumstances 

239 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Pierre's life is made truly miserable. He gets a 
dollar a night and "keep" for the poor job of playing 
to a questionable gathering from 9 P. M. to 3 A. M. 

Gabriele is always awake and waiting for him, 
and then so weary and heartsore that he can barely 
stand he must tell of the wonderful success he is 
and describe the bright lights, the dazzling life and 
the beautiful women, and offer new excuses why 
he cannot take Gabriele to hear him — yet. He 
shows her how he appears at the encores and gives 
vivid descriptions that are visioned. He brings 
home a discarded bouquet and describes how it was 
given to him. Then his playing and pantomime is 
interrupted by several indignant fellow tenants 
pouncing down: "SAY— IF YOU MUST PLAY- 
GO DOWN TO THE RIVERFRONT!" Thus 
poor Pierre's soul is tortured beyond endurance, 
though there is only a momentary glimpse of pain — 
then the smile. 

Then one night Pierre sees a Dread Spectre that 
threatens to envelop his little Gabriele and so de- 
stroy all happiness. 

It is Le Boeuf and two companions, who take a 
table and are carousing when suddenly Le Boeuf 
pauses in terror as though he saw the gallows. 
Simultaneously Pierre's bow sags and his hands 
clinch. He loosens his collar from the passionate 
emotion. 

Le Boeuf sneaks out. Pierre's anger slowlv fades 
in the thought of Gabriele, whom he has promised 
not to kill this Le Boeuf. Poor Gabriele ! He must 
hasten to her — she is his Life. 

Meantime all eyes are directed upon Pierre, for 
the music has stopped dead. The accompanists are 
berating him. But the proprietor likes him and the 

240 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

patrons like his music after all. Pierre cannot go 
on. The Boss is solicitous: "HERE, FOUNTAIN, 
YOU AIN'T WELL— HERE'S FIVE DOLLARS 
WHICH I'M RAISIN' YOU EVERY WEEK— 
OUR KIND LIKES YOUR PLAYIN'— BE SURE 
TO BE ON TIME TOMORROW." 

Outside Le Boeuf is telling his companions : 
"I'VE GOT TO GET RID OF THAT BIG 
BOOBY BEFORE HE SQUEALS ON ME." 
One of the men hands him a blackjack and Le 
Boeuf starts out trailing Pierre and waiting his 
opportunity to strike. 

But Pierre has cooled off. He can think of but 
one thing — this big brute owns his little Gabriele 
body and soul. Again he must hide. He stops in 
a little dry goods shop and with the five dollars 
buys Gabriele a pretty frock. This will please her 
and the new ordeal may be easier. 

Le Boeuf sees the dress and at once his fears 
vanish and he laughs as he sees ahead of him a 
good living without work. Gabriele is alive! He 
follows Pierre home and gets their number. 

Gabriele is surprised at Pierre's early return and 
overjoyed with the frock. Then Pierre suddenly 
clasps her protectinfly in his hi? arms nnd holds 
her, rocking her to sleep like a child, a look of futile 
agony on his face. 

Pierre is afraid to go back to the cafe and thus 
loses the only job he has had. Again they are 
flotsam and jetsam in the Great City of Few 
Dreams. 

Back in Papineauville we have seen La Touche 
trying almost in vain to sell out his confiserie. 
This shocks his vanity, as he had thought that every- 
one who heard of it would rush to him with an 

241 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

offer. At length strangers who are not in the 
least prepossessing consent to take the business for 
six months with the option of purchase. This is 
a bad bargain, but La Touche consents because he 
is many weeks overdue with his dear Pierre, whose 
Fame he has solemnly promised to make. 

Affairs have reached their very worst with Pierre 
when who should blow in like a gale of Southern 
wind but La Touche. The whole house is aroused 
by the noise and fuss he makes and come in to see 
what it is all about. La Touche is arrayed regard- 
less. He wears silk hat, cane, frock coat, fierce 
moustaches and all that goes with it. He enters like 
a brass band and with an irresistible air of impor- 
tance, enthusiasm and bombastic energy. He intro- 
duces himself to the somewhat astounded assembly: 
"I AM LA TOUCHE, THE IMPRESARIO— I 
HAVE COME A LONG WAY TO MAKE HIM 
FAMOUS!" 

At once all is changed, temperamentally and liter- 
ally. Pierre forgets all things in the flood of op- 
timism that La Touche lets loose in their hearts. 
"HOW IS IT? ARE YOU NOT RICH? I WILL 
SHOW THESE STUPID AMERICANS WHAT 
CLEVER ONES WE ARE ! TIENS !" 

So next day La Touche and Pierre go out. 
Pierre is rigged up like a Continental musician. La 
Touche goes directly to the swellest restaurant. 
He makes his way through all barriers. His nerve 
is superior to the nerviest city people. They take 
him at first for a buffoon, then he turns on them 
and bowls them over. He sends in a pompous card 
to the Proprietor: JEAN BAPTISTE MARIE 
ALENCON LA TOUCHE— SOUS-CAPORAL 
DANS LA GRAND ARMEE— IMPRESARIO- 

242 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

SUPERIEUR DE FONTANELLE-LE-GRAND— 
PREMIER VIOLIN ET COMPOSER— (CONFI- 
SEUR A PAPINEAUVILLE, P. Q.). This card 
is too much for the proprietor's curiosity and afraid 
of missing something worth while, though under- 
standing not a word of it, he has La Touche 
brought in. 

La Touche enters like an emperor, the shy Pierre 
following. La Touche out-bullies the proprietor 
when he gets on his high horse, and finally brings 
him into submission. He informs him: "FONTA- 
NELLE-LE-GRAND EES ON HEES VAY TO 
PAREE BUT HE VEEL PLAY FOR YOU BY 
MY SPECIALE PERMISSION." The proprietor 
thanks him. A fine contract is made. 

The two walk out in a maze after Pierre has 
played entirely to satisfaction. To Pierre this is 
Fame. 

At home, however, Le Boeuf has stolen in and 
has taken Gabriele in his arms. He pretends to be 
repentant and promises to take Gabriele with him 
soon if she will do everything he asks. It is quite 
obvious that she will. She promises not to tell of 
his visit. 

Pierre in his great happiness does not see that 
hers is a thing apart. 

PART IV.— THE BLESSED DEMOISELLE 

We find Pierre's name emblazoned outside the 
famous restaurant alongside that of La Touche the 
great impresario. Here it is discovered by Ignatz 
the Leader of the orchestra, who is both jealous 
and outraged at not having been consulted. His 
nose is thus put out of joint. He protests in vain 

243 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

to the proprietor and then swears vengeance by 
bringing the Union down on him. 

But a period of blessed prosperity ensues. Daily 
Pierre comes home laden with gifts for Gabriele 
and she is happy though oblivious. All she can re- 
member is that Le Boeuf took her in his arms. 

Pierre plays at the restaurant in a mood of sheer 
dazzling joy that delights the diners and makes 
Ignatz hotter with jealousy. Then comes the night 
of nights when Alva Blashfield, Blake and their 
party visit the restaurant. Pierre plays and his 
music enters Alva's heart like a refreshing draft. 
Pierre is not conscious of her or the impression he 
has made until the encore, when her enthusiasm 
shows no bounds, much to Blake's disgust. 

Then Pierre and Alva look into each other's eyes, 
yes, very souls. Then Pierre plays again, not for 
the throng, but for her. He knows and che knows 
Blake is annoyed and shows his displeasure in vain. 
Pierre plays for the first time his Prayer Sonata, 
for HER, to her. The gayety stops and an air of 
depression in accord with the music takes its place. 
Many of the guests leave with almost conscience- 
stricken faces as though they had come face to face 
for the first time with their wicked selves. The 
proprietor is alarmed and hurries to Ignatz : "FOR 
GOD'S SAKE, CUT OUT THE FUNERAL 
MARCH— THESE TIRED BUSINESS MEN 
WANT NOTHING PUT RAGTIME— GET ME!" 
Ignatz points to Pierre as the one responsible for 
this number. 

Blake especially has complained of the Sonata. 
He returns sullenly to the table to find Alva gone. 

Alva has approached Pierre, who turns and is 
blinded by the new emotion that envelops his be- 

244 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

ing as she whispers: "OH, IT WAS SO WON- 
DERFUl^-YOU WERE WONDERFUL! I 
SHALL COME AGAIN!" 

Ignatz has been joined by the Walking Delegate 
of the Musicians' Union, who now comes to the 
proprietor threateningly. Ignatz introduces the del- 
egate triumphantly, who announces : "THIS GUY 
IS A SCAB— AND UNLESS YOU FIRE HIM 
NOW THE UNION SAYS YOU'LL GET NO 
MORE MUSIC IN THIS JOINT— SEE!" The 
proprietor argues in vain, then pleads, with the re- 
sult that Pierre is discharged. 

Pierre goes home hovering between heaven and 
hell. An angel has descended at his feet with the 
annunciation that he is wonderful — and he always 
will be wonderful after that, because she has said 
it. But just now he had been thrown out of 
heaven ! 

La Touche receives the news and is furious be- 
yond description: "THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE! 
I SHALL SHOW THIS MONSIEUR UNION 
WHO LA TOUCHE IS! I SHALL PULL HIS 
NOSE!" 

In his impractical way Pierre keeps his money as 
of old in a vase where Gabriele can hobble to it 
and get coins for their daily needs. The contract 
had brought a large number of smal! bills and to 
the impractical Pierre they were rich again. 

The old Artist enters and finds Pierre once 
more downcast: "AH, I SEE THAT YOU 
PLUCKED ONLY A TAIL FEATHER OF THE 
BIRD OF FAME— THERE IS A WAY TO FOR- 
GET, HAVE SOME?" At which he produces a 
bottle of liquor, which Pierre refuses. He goes 
out and Pierre strums a few notes that show the 

245 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

color of his amorous soul and his dawning Love. 
Gabriele in the next room looks up as though some- 
one had called. She lays her hand with a sigh on 
her breast and asks him to play it over and over 
again. 

La Touche goes out in the evening to the restau- 
rant bent on reprisal and justice to his protege. 
The proprietor will not see him, and he paces up 
and down in front of the orchestra until Ignatz 
appears, bowing and smiling, whereupon La Touche 
pulls his nose soundly: "YOU SHALL NOT 
NAME MY PIERRE A SCAB— A PIECE OF 
DEAD SKIN— HE IS FONTANELLE-LE- 
GRAND !" The proprietor orders him put out 
forthwith and he puts up a noise and a fight that 
can be heard a block away. 

Alva has come again tonight to hear Pierre, and 
it is she, much to Blake's disgust, who brings the 
melee to a halt by touching the irate La Touche 
on the arm and signaling the others away. She 
asks where Fontanelle is. La Touche seeing com- 
mercial possibilities is calmed instantly: "AH, MA- 
DAME, YOU VEEL VANT FONTANELLE-LE- 
GRAND TO PLAY AT A MUSI C ALE— N'EST 
C PAS?" Alva had not thought of this, but the 
idea is not bad and offers an excuse. She nods, 
takes down the address. La Touche now walks 
slowly out with unwonted dignity. 

PART V.— THE SUBLIME SACRIFICE 

To Pierre the news of Alva's visit means that 
heaven is full upon him. He is in a constant 
flutter of happiness that knows no bounds. 

La Touche, too, is in a fever of preparation for 
madame's promised visit, and as in all things he 

246 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

purposes to make it one of the most theatrical 
events in his career. He will stage the whole thing 
with becoming atmosphere. He gets his idea from 
the print of "The Beethoven Sonata" hanging on 
the wall, which he intends to reproduce exactly. 
He hires the services of people he picks up here 
and there to furnish figures for the composition, 
and he rehearses them with harsh severity. They 
are all bad actors and need him constantly gesticu- 
lating in the foreground to maintain anything like 
a semblance of the desired effect. 

The day upon which Alva is expected sees the 
tableau arranged with sweating difficulty by La 
Touche. Pierre is posed at the piano with his vio- 
lin. The others are supposed to listen, enthralled 
by the air. Most of them go to sleep or center their 
frail attentiveness on less artistic things, and others 
cannot keep their eyes off the jumping La Touche, 
who as she enters takes his position behind Alva, 
engaged in wildly directing the affair almost in 
vain. 

When all is a la Beethoven Sonata, La Touche 
beckons for Alva to be ushered in. All seemingly 
ignore her, though in reality they are looking cross- 
eyed in their efforts to look two ways at one time. 
La Touche asks her politely to wait for a moment. 
He, behind her back, holds the tableau, trying with 
difficulty to appear enraptured, while really shaking 
his fists at the fishlike postures. 

Alva is truly impressed. Yet strangely it is Ga- 
briele with her eyes upon her whom Alva notices 
first, and goes straight to her with a smile and out- 
stretched hands. Alva touches the girl's heart as 
she approaches the wheel chair and speaks witli 
her in French. 






247 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Pierre is impressed beyond words by this action 
of Alva's. He says simply with his open smile 
showing like a window into his heart: "I THANK 
YOU FOR THIS HAPPINESS YOU GIVE MY 
LITTLE SISTER— THAT IS THE GREATEST 
DESIRE IN MY LIFE." Alva looks at him with 
a deep sympathetic understanding. Gabriele is en- 
tranced by the kind lady who has completely won 
her heart. 

La Touche hustles the supers out of the room and 
manages it so that Alva and Pierre are left alone 
in the room. He peeps from behind an adjoining 
portiere. 

Thus Pierre and Alva spend a wonderful Hour 
together, an hour that neither of them will ever 
forget, and in which each is irresistibly attracted. 
Pierre now plays, now ingenuously discloses his 
Dream of going to Paris to meet Maitre Dupre, 
now becomes shy under the pressure of circum- 
stance, now emotionally enthusiastic. 

La Touche at length not being able to hear what 
they say and seeing an hour has passed is too im- 
patient to stand it longer approaches, obviously 
trying not to interrupt by his coughing and so on. 
"PERHAPS MADAME AND FONTANELLE- 
LE-GRAND HAVE MADE ALL ARRANGE- 
MENTS FOR THE MUSICALE?" They had 
not even mentioned it and show they are embarrassed. 

Alva insists on giving them a check for five 
hundred dollars in advance. She kisses Gabriele 
and tells her she is coming again to see her only, 
and leaves them all in the clouds, La Touche with 
the big check, Gabriele with the tangible Sympathy, 
Pierre with a Love that will never die. The musi- 
cale is to be given within a week. 

248 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

Le Boeuf calls, in the men's absence, obviously 
down and out. Gabriele is sorry for him and dis- 
closes the secret of the money vase and he helps 
himself to nearly all of the contents, Gabriele turn- 
ing painfully away so that she will not see. Just 
then there comes a knock at the door. In consterna- 
tion Le Boeuf runs to seek a hiding place in the next 
room. 

Alva enters, followed by a footman bearing an 
armful of potted plants and cut flowers. Alva 
kisses Gabriele again and asks her to go out for a 
ride in the car in vain. As she is leaving she says : 
"NOW, ON THE DAY OF THE MUSICALE, 
I AM GOING TO COME FOR YOU EARLY IN 
THE MORNING TO SPEND THE WHOLE 
DAY LONG." 

Gabriele, overjoyed, has forgotten all about Le 
Boeuf until he appears all excitement. For Alva 
had removed her coat and disclosed a wonderful 
pearl neckband. Le Boeuf sees a way out of all 
things. He tells Gabriele that she must get that 
necklace for him — steal it. Gabriele recoils, and 
then Le Boeuf wheedles, threatens, and finally 
promises that this will enable him to come for her 
and take her away with him. At last she consents 
to his wishes. 

Pierre and La Touche come home laden with 
gifts and goodies for their darling, but she is only 
sad and morose. Pierre says he has spent all their 
change and goes to their vase "bank" and finds it 
practically empty. He turns to Gabriele startled 
with fear of the serpent. 

Gabriele looks guilty, but when he asks her if 
she knows she shakes her head, no, and he will 
not pain her, but is stabbed to the heart with appre- 

249 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

hension. La Touche comes in with a diagram on 
paper for the musicale and Pierre is taken away 
from the subject. He throws off the care with a 
smile, though it will persist in coming back. 

Then the wonderful day of the musicale arrives, 
and with it Alva for Gabriele with a new frock and 
all. Gabriele goes with her, her heart sore with the 
weight of the coming treachery. 

Blake wants to know, "YOU MAY TRUST 
THESE CANUCKS WITH THINGS OF 
VALUE, BUT I DON'T." 

Alva tells him later when he continues to annov 
her: "I AM SORRY YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS 
MUSICIAN— I WOULD BE AFRAID TO TELL 
YOU WHAT I THOUGHT OF HIM." 

Evening approaches and La Touche personally 
attends to Pierre's make-up. Then he sends him to 
the musicale alone. "YOU MUST TELL THEM 
YOU CANNOT PLAY WITHOUT MY PER- 
MISSION, AND I, LA TOUCHE, SHALL AP- 
PEAR WHEN THEY ARE BEGINNING TO 
FEAR THEY WILL NOT HEAR YOU." 

Gabriele is being amused by Alva as the latter 
dresses for the evening. At length Gabriele gets 
hold of Alva's jewel case and amongst its contents 
finds the neckband. There is an agonized moment 
of indecision, then the opportunity comes and Ga- 
briele slips the pearls into a wrist bag that Alva 
has given her. 

Alva has just come back, and noting Gabriele has 
put down the case, hurries to it and puts on her 
rings. Then she misses the pearls. Looks around 
hastily. An early guest is announced and finally in 
despair she shrugs her shoulders, gives an order 
about Gabriele, and hurries out. 

250 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

Pierre arrives, shy and retiring. Then all present 
must wait interminably. Alva comes and asks 
Pierre to play. He says, no, he cannot without La 
Touches permission. Then Alva has a surprise for 
Pierre. She brings forward a big Frenchman: 
"PERMIT ME TO PRESENT TO YOU FONTA- 
NELLE-LE-GRAND, M. DUPRE, THE GREAT 
FRENCH MASTER OF MUSIC YOU WANTED 
TO STUDY WITH !" Pierre is overwhelmed and 
the two chat until the arrival of La Touche is an- 
nounced. 

Blake has noted his fiancee's missing neckband of 
pearls from the first: "SINCE IT WAS I WHO 
GAVE YOU THAT BAND OF PEARLS I DO 
NOT THINK IT AMISS TO ASK WHERE 
THEY ARE." Alva implores him to wait. He 
agrees. 

Then the footman reads La Touche's card to the 
mingled amusement and amazement of the impa- 
tient guests. Then Sous-Caporal La Touche ap- 
pears in the full dress uniform of a Turco of the 
Franco-Prussian War, blouse, bagged trousers, 
sword and all, gold lace and a broad riband across 
his breast, and numerous medals. All are astound- 
ed, but are finally impressed as he lengthily intro- 
duces Pierre, who shyly retreats to the shadow of 
the curtain while La Touche struts up and down in 
front of the assembly. 

Then Pierre plays to and for Alva alone, and 
Alva is with him in spirit and truth. 

Dupre is enthusiastic and with Alva makes an ap- 
pointment for five o'clock the next day, promising 
him all that he has ever dreamed. Pierre kisses his 
hand. 

Pierre is directed to the room where Gabriele is 

251 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

waiting for him. It is Alva's room, and he emerges 
from it carrying Gabriele as Blake and Alva come 
along the hall, Alva having promised to come up 
and convince him that the necklace is not lost. 
Blake registers his suspicions as Pierre and his 
sister pass on. 

They search in vain for the pearls. Blake ques- 
tions the maids and learns that Pierre and his sister 
and Alva have been the only persons in the room 
since the necklace was last seen. Blake bids Alva 
goodnight, registering in his look news that will be 
bad for her. Alva is very uneasy. 

Blake goes outside and telephones the police. 
"THERE HAS BEEN A VALUABLE NECK- 
LACE OF PEARLS STOLEN AND I WANT 
YOU TO SEND TWO MEN WITH ME TO AR- 
REST THE THIEF!" 

PART VI.— THE SUPREME STRUGGLE 

Pierre's ecstatic mood is somewhat dimmed by 
Gabriele, who is solemnly sad. The two hold each 
other in arms a minute when La Touche bursts in 
with copies of the evening papers. He dispels their 
gloom by undignified conduct in his exuberance. 
Then they all sit about and talk. They are inter- 
rupted by a knock on the door. Gabriele starts and 
trembles. Pierre notices this and goes to the Outer 
door, where he finds Blake and two policemen. 

Blake at once points Pierre out as the man. 
Pierre shakes his head vehemently. Then Blake 
says : "WELL, IT WAS EITHER YOU OR YOUR 
SISTER!" Pierre staggers as though struck a 
blow. At once he changes, and after a flash of 
pain sembles a confession. Asks a moment to say 

252 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

goodbye. He pitifully tries to think up something 
to say and then comes the idea. He puts that dear 
sweet smile of delusion on his lips and comes in 
apparently overjoyed: "I HAVE GREAT NEWS 
— MAITRE DUPRE HAS SENT FOR ME— 
PERHAPS WE SHALL GO TO PARIS YET— 
I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I SHALL BE 
GONE. LA TOUCHE, LOOK AFTER MA PE- 
TITE." Then he kisses Gabriele and leaves them 
discussing the great news wildly. 

Thus Pierre is taken to jail broken hearted. He 
has confessed to stealing from her who had become 
the foremost angel in his Greater Dream. 

In the morning Blake calls on Alva and tells her 
what has happened. She protests it never could be. 
He smiles and says it is because Pierre has con- 
fessed. She then turns on him and commands him 
to leave her. She then thinks and thinks, until 
finally she recalls having come in the room for her 
jewel box which Gabriele was toying with when she 
put something in her wrist bag. She will go to Ga- 
briele. 

Gabriele is being entertained by La Touche, who 
has bought all the morning papers, which have col- 
umns about the musicale and wonderful things to 
say about Pierre. The photographs of La Touche 
and Pierre appear in several of the papers, La 
Touche having sent them to all. La Touche is 
walking up and down in his dressing gown with 
his thumbs in his arm pits, gesticulating and panto- 
miming what he intends doing. 

Alva comes and Gabriele is conscience stricken at 
the sight of her. She throws off La Touche, who 
tells her the latest news about Pierre having gone 
to M. Dupre. In the next room she takes Gabriele, 

253 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

who is filled with remorse, and soon Alva sees her 
Pierre's release. Gabriele still denies the truth, 
however, and then Alva goes straight to the bag 
and takes the neckband from it. 

Gabriele is ashamed and mortified. But Alva 
realizes the grand man her brother is and hugs her 
and lets her weep on her shoulder, then hurries 
away after telling her that she will buy a splendid 
necklace for her very own. 

La Touche has had a little excitement of his own 
in receiving a telegram: YOUR TENANTS 
HAVE RUN AWAY, TAKING WITH THEM 
EVERYTHING THEY COULD LAY HANDS 
ON IN THE CONFISERIE— YOU HAD BET- 
TER COME AT ONCE. There remains but one 
thing to do, and that is to hasten back to Papineau- 
ville at once and wring the neck of everyone in 
sight. Thus La Touche leaves Gabriele, saying her 
brother will soon return. Yet taking with him a 
Dream that has come true of his dear Pierre. 

Alva, with something new shining in her eyes, 
hurries away to the police station and demands 
Pierre's release, explaining that she has found the 
missing jewels and has them with her. 

Pierre is brought out of the cell silent, and his 
pain and shame are very great when he sees who 
it is. Alva goes straight to him and takes his two 
hands in hers and he lifts his head which he has 
hung till now. "AH, I SHALL NEVER THINK 
OF YOU AS FONTANELLE AGAIN, BUT AS 
PIERRE-LE-GRAND ! REMEMBER, TOMOR- 
ROW I BRING MAITRE DUPRE TO YOU, 
AND THEN—" 

Pierre stands for a long time where she has left 
him. Looking at the hands she has held and bask- 

254 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

ing in the realization that SHE is his Dream made 
flesh. The police rudely wake him up and tell hina 
to get out while the going's good. 

Le Boeuf sneaks in in a fever of happy expecta- 
tion. At once he demands of Gabriele, "Where is 
it?" She looks at him speechless and piteously. She 
sees him for what he is for the first time. She is 
a stricken doe with the fierce hound at her throat. 
There is murder in his eye. "SO YOU LET THE 
SWAG SLIP THROUGH YOUR FINGERS, 
EH? WELL, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU THIS 
TIME, YOU—" 

Pierre the Emotional has climbed to the skies 
again in which his Sun seems shining with new 
lustre. He comes home aglow and happy in the 
thought that Gabriele did not take the jewels, as 
he believed. He has bought flowers and knick-knacks 
for her, and he tiptoes in, expecting to surprise her. 
He listens at the door of the next room and opens 
it only a crack. 

Le Boeuf at this moment has just given the poor 
clinging Gabriele a shove from him that has sent 
her sprawling on the floor. She lies there quiver- 
ing and helpless and waiting face down for the final 
blow. 

Pierre droops like a flower in a cold blast. The 
happiness fades from his face and gives place to a 
carnal look. He has heard, and he realizes the 
whole truth. With a silent commanding jerk of 
the hand he beckons Le Boeuf from the inner room. 

Le Boeuf, strangely impelled, comes out. Pierre 
locks Gabriele's door. Then, like a crouching tiger, 
and with working hands, Pierre approaches Le 
Boeuf. ,Le Boeuf ldioks behind quickly, espies 
Pierre's precious violin where it has lain uncased 

255 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

since the night before. He backs to the table until 
his hands come in contact with the instrument. 
This is his one opportunity. He raises the violin 
above his head. The onrushing Pierre cringes at the 
sight. Le Boeuf does not hesitate a second but lets 
Pierre have it full over the head. The priceless 
violin flies into a thousand pieces! 

Pierre sinks down with a moan as though struck 
a vital blow. Gathering up some of the fragments 
with trembling hands he presses them in mental 
anguish to his lips and heart. Gradually his eyes 
take on a murderous gleam, his jaws set, his nails 
dig into his working hands. He is a tiger now, 
and only the heart's blood of his victim will com- 
pensate, he is mad with the wrongs that for years 
have been piled up on his breaking heart, he is wild 
because of the personal insults and injuries that his 
darling Gabriele has endured, and reason vanishes 
at the sight of his precious violin destroyed ! 

Le Boeuf is about to descend when he hears a 
group of tenants ascending. He sees that will not 
do and turns to the roof. He is delayed getting the 
hatch off. He is barely outside on the roof when 
Pierre is seen coming. He closes the hatch and 
fallens it. 

Gabriele has raised herself and listens, now ior 
the first time in positive revolt and revulsion against 
the brute Le Boeuf. She wants herself to kill him. 
She cannot get out, and fears for her Pierre now. 

Pierre has come to the fastened door and with 
an unguessed strength in his madness fairly rips it 
from its fastening and appears like a rapacious 
beast emerging from the hole. 

Le Boeuf has discovered to his horror that the 
building is connected with no other and projects it- 

256 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

self alone into the sky. Either he or Pierre — 
perhaps both — must conquer or perish. Pierre is 
deliberately refastening the hatch. It is Pierre who 
discovers a sort of iron ladder scarcely visible 
which he wrenches from its moorings and flings 
over the side. Then panting like a beast and 
crouching in his movements, Pierre goes after 
Le Boeuf. He is more like a gorilla than a man as 
he chases Le Boeuf from point to point about the 
roof. 

Pierre finally gets hold of the now terrified Le 
Boeuf. Le Boeuf's one move is to try to hurl 
Pierre over the ledge. Pierre wants nothing but to 
keep his victim on the roof and gradually beat and 
tear him to pieces. Le Boeuf defends himself with 
the strength of a man fighting for his life. Pierre 
fights with the brutal gratification of a beast of prey 
mauling his victim. He laughs mirthlessly at 
every blow. 

The men seem evenly matched at first, and the 
fight is herculean, and sometimes they are actually 
hanging over the edge of the roof. But nothing 
can withstand the mad unfeeling fury of Pierre's 
strength. He is literally beating Le Boeuf to a 
pulp. Both men are torn in body and raiment and 
covered with blood. 

Le Boeuf's only hope is the pile of fallen bricks 
that the chimney has become because of their fight- 
ing about it. He manoeuvers the fighting nearer 
and nearer to this pile of bricks. His hand at 
.length gets close enough to seize one and then he 
smashes Pierre on the head, nearly braining him. 
Pierre releases his hold and Le Boeuf breaks away. 

Pierre shakes himself and with the blood running 
into his eyes he groggily gropes his way toward 

257 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Le Boeuf who, still afraid, has moved with an 
armful of bricks to a wide ledge or coping. Here 
he waits for Pierre to get within range, a brick in 
each hand. When Pierre is within ten feet he lets 
one fly. and it grazes Pierre's head and he goes 
down on his knees. But again he rises with even 
less strength and decision. Now Le Boeuf takes 
deliberate aim and Pierre draws nearer, seemingly 
unconscious of his certain peril. Le Boeuf raises 
the missile high, steps back and — the whole coping 
gives way and over he goes ! 

Pierre creeps to the edge and looks over, and 
gradually the mist of madness clears, and with it 
comes to him the worst of all his ordeals. He has 
killed a man! Or if not, he tried to. He has killed 
that which Gabriele loves more than any other 
thing. He will go down and try to put life into the 
body himself. Muttering and lifting his eyes to 
God for forgiveness, he creeps to the hatch, and 
fumbles weakly. 

Finally he gets or falls down the stairs to his 
floor. There he is about to go down further when 
he hears excitement below. One of the tenants 
has just found the body and he hears her tell the 
policeman: "A MAN HAS JUST BEEN MUR- 
DERED—HIS BODY IS LYING OUTSIDE MY 
WINDOW!" So this is the end then! 

From this instant Pierre becomes in fancy, if not 
in truth, a fugitive from justice. He must ever flee 
the heavy hand of the law. He sneaks into their 
room and lets the terrified Gabriele out. 

Gabriele is the one who is changed now. Her 
joy is half complete on seeing her brother alive. 
He says nothing, but she understands and by her 
manner approves. She is now the protector of her 

258 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

poor Pierre who has given up all things that were 
his for her. She tenderly bathes him, binds his 
wounds and soothes him. "AH, MY GABRIELE, 
IT IS TERRIBLE! YOU KNOW I COULD 
NEVER KILL EVEN THE SPIDER THAT 
BITES ME!" He breaks down and sobs in her 
lap like a child, as he picks up a piece of his dear 
violin. Every moment he starts up and tries to ap- 
pear composed, as though the police were entering 
now. He is waiting for them to come and get him. 

The police have examined the body and identify 
it: "OH, JUST ANOTHER GANG MURDER— 
THIS IS 'JULES THE CANUCK' AND YOU 
CAN SEE HE HAS BEEN KILLED BY ONE 
OF HIS PALS IN A FIGHT." So they dismiss 
the matter. 

But not so with Pierre. He has packed a few 
things and they are ready to steal away under cover 
of darkness. He has just finished a letter to Alva, 
which he leaves as a blind to the police on the table. 
Then he carries Gabriele tenderly but in terror down 
the stairs. Then the wheel chair and they are off 
into oblivion, leaving the Fair City of Dreams-Al- 
most-Come-True. 

Alva comes with Dupre the next day, having 
made all plans herself to see to it that Pierre got all 
things on the ladder of Fame. She finds only the 
letter: WHEN YOU RECEIVE THIS YOU 
WILL KNOW WHY WE CAN NEVER MEET 
AGAIN— THOUGH YOU SHALL NEVER BE 
ABSENT FROM ME. AS A LAST FAVOR I 
ASK YOU TO INFORM M. LA TOUCHE 
THAT I AM GOING TO PARIS, WHICH WAS 
HIS DEAREST WISH, AND SHALL BE AL- 
WAYS GRATEFUL. PIERRE. 

259 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

And "Somewhere in Canada" we see Pierre and 
Gabriele in her wheel chair skulking along a high- 
way. Gabriele is so tired, but she is so solicitous of 
Pierre, and the two are bound together now with 
a Golden String of memory. He kisses her tenderly. 
"I WOULD HAVE FACED THEM AND 
TOLD THEM THE TRUTH BUT FOR THEE, 
MY POOR LITTLE SISTER— THOU HAST 
SUFFERED SO !" Then they resume their jour- 
ney, looking fearfwlly about from right to left for 
strangers from whom to hide, Pierre's big re- 
turned smile illumining the way for weary Ga- 
briele. 

PART VII.— THE EMBERS OF A DREAM 

Several years have elapsed. 

We meet La Touche, considerably aged, a little 
lame and half blind. That memory of the Fame 
of Fontanelle-le-Grand which he created has become 
an obsession. Anyone who will listen he tells about 
the wonder of it. He has had a medal cast which 
he wears pinned to his breast for that great service 
to "Art and Humanity." 

One day he is passing through the Lower Town 
of Quebec and he hears the notes of a violin. They 
strike a cord of memory, and he approaches toward 
the street fiddler playing to a group of children. 
His hat is at his feet, into which a few pennies 
have been tossed. 

This is our Pierre. He has grown a beard, his 
glance is shifty, his clothes ragged. He plays on, 
but he neither sees nor hears. His eyes are set on 
an Invisible Star. When he "comes to" it is with 
a start of fear. 



260 






AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

La Touche hobbles up and sees something famil- 
iar in his half turned figure. He touches him on 
the arm, his face filled with hopeful anticipation. 

Pierre cringes under the touch and turns a face 
filled with terror, that at last the law is upon him. 
Pierre is shaken to the foundations of his tender 
soul at the sight of La Touche, whom he at length 
identifies. He is torn between many emotions — pity, 
gratitude, sorrow, fear. He is almost ready to con- 
fess his identity when his lips form the word "Ga- 
briele" and he shakes his head and closes his lips 
tightly. 

La Touche shakes his head disappointedly: 
"FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT YOU WERE 
FONTANELLE-LE-GRAND— IT WAS I WHO 
MADE HIM FAMOUS, YOU KNOW— HE IS 
IN EUROPE NOW— PROBABLY PLAYING 
BEFORE CROWNED HEADS—" La Touche 
has called attention to his medal and rattles on. 

At the mention of his name, Pierre is filled with 
fear that someone may hear, and hustles La Touche 
into a nearby wineshop in a secluded corner. 

La Touche takes a great mass of brown and 
worn clippings from his pocket, which he tenderly 
handles as he reads them to Pierre, who sits with 
knit brows and listens: "FONTANELLE-LE- 
GRAND A TREMENDOUS SUCCESS! PRO- 
TEGE OF MISS ALVA BLASHFIELD WITH 
LA TOUCHE THE FAMOUS CANADIAN IM- 
PRESARIO ACCLAIMED BY SOCIETY!" La 
Touche rambles on and on. Pierre, keeping him 
from making too much noise, sits there shaking his 
head. 

Pierre finally tells him that Fontanelle-le-Grand 
is dead. La Touche, angry and ready to fight him: 

261 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

"FONT ANELLE-LE-GR AND DEAD, YOU SAY? 
THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE— FONTANELLE-LE- 
GRAND CAN NEVER DIE!" The two are or- 
dered out for making so much noise, and La Touche 
leaves Pierre standing there, repeating his words as 
he goes away talking vehemently to himself. 

Pierre returns to Gabriele in their neat but ill 
furnished little place that supposedly guards their 
identity. Gabriele has changed. She it is whose 
every thought is for Pierre, whom she guards and 
comforts. He is so immersed in reflection that she 
cannot rouse him, until suddenly his face illumines 
with his old smile as he repeats almost fiercely 
triumphant: "IT IS TRUE— FONTANELLE-LE- 
GRAND CAN NEVER DIE!" Gabriele nods, but 
tells him to speak that name more softly. 

Pierre and she are very happy again as he dumps 
the coins from his pocket on the table. He finds a 
bank note for $100. Tears come in his eyes as he 
thinks and then knows it was the dear old La 
Touche: "AH, MA PETITE, I AM HAPPY 
AGAIN ! FOR NOW WE SHALL BUY MANY 
PRETTY NEW THINGS FOR THEE!" 

Next we see Alva and her decrepit husband Blake 
arriving at the hotel in Quebec. Blake has aged and 
has more than one foot in the grave. Alva has ma- 
tured into a beautiful woman. 

Blake tells her querulously: "FOR THE LIFE 
OF ME I CANNOT SEE WHY YOU HAVE 
COME TO THIS RAT-HOLE OF A PLACE!" 
She smiles reminiscently. She puts on a heavy veil 
and tells him despite his protests that she is going 
to look around the Lower City. She means to 
visit every corner of HIS dear town. 

She is coming back to the hotel that night when 

262 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

she hears certain notes from a violin that transfix 
her. The music comes from a dirty little wine 
shop. She enters, much to the amusement of the 
patrons. She goes into a secluded private drinking 
room where she can see in a half-dark corner 
Pierre playing his "Prayer Sonata." He stands 
oblivious to all things else. His eyes are again 
fixed on the Invisible Star, a half smile on his lips. 

Alva is struck deep with pity and sobs. She too 
had thought he was playing to Royalty abroad! 
Then she is happy in the thought that this is he. 
Pierre passes around the hat, still enthralled and 
unseeing. Alva lays her hand on his and whispers, 
"PIERRE!" 

He is frightened at first. Can scarcely believe it 
is she. Then breaks the real smile that wipes away 
five years' bitterness from his soul. She has risen. 
They read the truth in each other's eyes and then 
by a common impulse are in each other's arms. 

Then follows their Wonderful Hour that will 
make all the suffering in the world endurable, that 
will keep his heart forever green and his smile 
sweet for all the days to come. She orders wine 
and the waiter looks on skeptically. 

They then review his night of triumph long ago. 
Pierre mimics La Touche and how amusing he was. 
Alva acts the applause and the shyness of Pierre. 
They laugh and weep alternately and forget all 
things. Pierre takes Alva's hands and kisses them: 
"AND ALL THE YEARS THOU HAST BEEN 
MY INVISIBLE STAR TO WHOM I HAVE 
PLAYED AND SUNG AND SMILED!" She 
takes his brow and oushes back the hair and kisses 
him. Oh, the joy of telling each other their great 
love ! 

263 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Back at the hotel the hours have passed petu- 
lantly for Blake. He has tickets for the midnight 
express. Worried and annoyed he at length gets 
the police and insists on going with them and 
making a search of the Lower City. 

Gabriele at home is distracted with anxiety. 

But for Pierre and Alva there are neither time 
nor things, all is eternal love. Pierre is saying: 
"AH, MY ANGEL! THIS NIGHT SHALL BE 
MY ETERNITY, COLORING ALL TIME THAT 
PI AS BEEN OR SHALL BE!" They drink deeply 
to their love. 

Then it is that in a hopeless digression the police 
come to this joint and find them. Blake is horrified, 
outraged. 

Pierre for a moment is roused to horror at the 
sight of the police, but it is Alva who in a look 
gives him strength and he is resolute to stand the 
supposed ordeal. Alva remarks : "I DID NOT 
TELL YOU— BUT WHAT DOES IT MATTER 
TO US !— HE IS NOW MY HUSBAND I" Pierre 
smiles that nothing can dim his happiness. Blake 
in his rage at Pierre, who does not move when he 
shakes his fist under his nose, tumbles over in ex- 
haustion, plainly showing that he is not good for 
many more years. They revive him with whisky. 
Pierre's smile seems chiseled in his heart as she 
says: "AU REVOIR, MY PIERRE-LE-GRAND ! 
UNTIL SOME DAY— YOU UNDERSTAND, 
MY LOVE— AU REVOIR!" 

Pierre stands with clasped hands as though he 
saw a vision, and then marches away like one in- 
spired, saying to himself : "YOU, MY LOVE, AND 
TONIGHT, CAN NEVER LEAVE ME!" He 
takes the tearful Gabriele in his arms and together 

264 



AN ACCEPTED SYNOPSIS 

they watch the lights of an express train passing 
by: "TONIGHT! TONIGHT, MA PETITE, MY 
FAIREST DREAM CAME TRUE! YES, AND 
TOMORROW— TOMORROW- P E R H A P S— " 
And we know that She will return tomorrow — 
one day — and all that he has Dreamed will live! 

THE END OF THE PLAY. 



265 



The Scenario Is the Translation of 
the Author's Story-Synopsis into a 
Scene Arrangement of the Photo- 
play in Continuity. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Scenarios That Have Been Done 

"one of us"; "just a song at twilight"; "bonnie 
annie laurie"; "the red republic." 

AN examination of the excerpts here 
given will disclose that there are many 
forms employed in obtaining the same results. 
The suggestion offered in another chapter is 
here repeated, that progress, inter-under- 
standing, and more perfect interpretation and 
presentation, would result, if a standard and 
universal form, terminology, and production 
were evolved, studied, and adopted by all con- 
cerned in the creation, construction, interpre- 
tation, production, manufacture, and presen- 
tation of Photodrama. 

The following Scenario was patterned in 
the main from models used in the Lasky 
studio from the original stage Play of the 
same name. The Photoplay was produced 
by that corporation under another title, and 
from a script that quite abandoned the story 
and argument of the Play. 

266 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

(EXAMPLE 133) 
1. Main Title: 

ONE OF US 

By Jack Lait 

Scenario 
BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

2. Producer's Titles: 

3. Subtitle: 

All humanity is made of the same clay, 
and after all it is usually a mere circum- 
stance that separates one half of society 
from the other. 

Scene 1. 

Int. Potter's Workshop— MIDDLE VIEW— IRIS 
IN 

A kindly old Potter sits at his moulding bench. 
On one side of the bench stands the statuette of a 
cabaret singer he has just finished. From the same 
clay, the Potter is just putting the finishing touches 
to a magnificent dame of high society. Pleased 
with his handiwork, the Potter sets the second fig- 
ure down near the first and turns aside, taking up 
another handful of soft clay to make a third figure. 
A Satyr-like Man with a devilish mischief in his 
eyes comes stealthily behind the Potter, advising 
the audience with a wink to look sharp and watch 
the fun. With a piece of white crayon the Satyr 
draws a distinct line between the two statuettes. 
Instantly they come to life. 

267 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Scene 2. 
Int. Potter's Workshop— CLOSE VIEW 
of Two Statuettes who have become Joan and 
Isabel. The swell Lady, Isabel, surveys the Cabaret 
Singer, Joan, disapprovingly through her lorgnettes, 
draws up her skirt and walks away. Joan gives a 
toss of her head, draws herself up scornfully, and 
reveals her opinion of the Lady with a contemptu- 
ous snap of the fingers. 

4. Subtitle: 

WALLACE REID 

as David Strong — whose Money was the 
"circumstance" which made him a scion of 
a society that bored him to death. 

Scene 3. 
Jut. Strong Dining Room— CLOSE VIEW 
of Dave in evening dress sitting in massive stiff 
chair, stifling a yawn and otherwise suffering ex- 
cruciating agony and discomfort. 

Scene 4. 
Int. Strong Dining Room— IRIS IN— FULL VIEW 
Dinner party of the most boringly exquisite kind, 
without caricature. Present are Dave and Isabel; 
Tony, Elderly Maiden, Elsie, Roswell; fussy Old 
Uncle and Aunt, aristocratic Middle-aged Gentle- 
man and Dave's Mother — in that order, so that 
Mother is alongside of Dave. Mr. Roswell rises 
with exquisite stupidity in response to a toast. 

5. Subtitle: 

And malicious "circumstance" is about to 
thrust this on Dave as a brother-in-law. 

268 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

Scene 5. 
Int. Strong Dining Room — CLOSE VIEW 
of Roswell, who is of the saphead, boring English 
type and in the most tedious manner possible tries 
to express himself. 

Scene 6. 
Int. Strong Dining Room — FULL VIEW 
All the diners, with the exception of Dave and 
Tony, who manifest greatest agony, are enthralled. 
Dave signals to Tony, for heaven's sake to try to 
get out of this. 

6. Subtitle: 

While lack of this same Money has made 
Tony Watson an under-world newspaper 
reporter. 

Scene 7. 
Int. Strong Dining Room — CLOSE VIEW 
of Tony, equally bored is answering Dave's code in 
the affirmative that he too will die. 

7. Subtitle: 

Isabel, who is in conspiracy with "circum- 
stance" to become a member of Dave's 
family. 

Scene 8. 
Int. Strong Dining Room — FULL VIEW 
Dave at a warning signal from Tony finds himself 
observed by Isabel and makes an awkward and 
unsatisfactory attempt to explain, in the midst of 
which Elsie and Roswell have risen together and 
the company follows suit to drink their health. 
Dave manages to spill his wine, which is a true 
record of the way he feels about it. 

269 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Scene 10. 
Int. Foyer Hallr-FULL VIEW 
Showing dining room through doorway, with diners 
standing around holding elegant conversation. Tony 
stands wiping his brow as though he had escaped 
from torture, when Dave comes running in register- 
ing it was awful and imploring Tony to get him out 
of it. Tony assures him. 
8. Subtitle: 

"Oh, I've the sort of assignment tonight 
that you love — but how the deuce will you 
break away?" 

Scene 11. 
hit Foyer Hall— CLOSE VIEW 
of Dave and Tony. Dave falls on Tony's neck and 
indicates that he is just to leave it to him. He 
pushes Tony back into the dining room. Dave goes 
to a little desk and takes up a telegram blank. 
Butler is passing through when Dave seals the tele- 
gram, hands it to butler, looks at his watch telling 
butler to deliver it to him in five minutes. Butler 
amazed, but politely comprehends. Dave exits. 

Scene 12. 
Int. Strong Library— FULL VIEW 
The dinner guests are taking their coffee. The 
gentlemen are standing about in possible postures 
of discomfort and the ladies are talking vague 
nothings. Dave's Mother — who obviously idolizes 
her son — has got Dave by the arm and is piloting 
him over to Isabel, when the butler comes and pre- 
sents Dave with the telegram on a salver. 






270 



, 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

Scene 13. 
Int. Strong Library— MIDDLE VIEW 
Taking in Dave, Mother, and Isabel. Comedy busi- 
ness of Dave, as he hesitates gravely before open- 
ing telegram. Anxiety of mother at possibility of 
unfortunate contents which Dave has suggested. 
Isabel as usual is suspicious and keeps an eye of 
mistrust on Dave. Dave reads the telegram and 
registers dismay. As his Mother is going to read it 
he crumples it up in his hand. 

Scene 14. 
Int. Strong Library— FULL VIEW 
The commotion caused by the telegram has pene- 
trated the stilted atmosphere of the entire assem- 
blage. Tony is particularly affected and moves to 
Dave's side, taking the crumpled telegram from his 
hand. He seems to feel it more than Dave and re- 
marks loudly: 
9. Subtitle: 

"Why, isn't this distressing, Dave ! You 

will have to go at once?" 

Scene 15. 
Int. Strong Library — FULL VIEW 
Dave nods soberly. Dave's Mother is quite wrought 
up and accompanies him to the door as he bids the 
guests an unceremonious good evening ! He looks 
at his watch and tells his mother not to worry, it is 
nothing. He kisses her and hurries out. 

Scene. 16. 
Int. Strong Library— CLOSE VIEW 
of Isabel, who has been deserted. She espies the 

271 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

crumpled telegram lying on the floor. Dave in his 
haste has dropped it. She picks it up, unfolds it 
on her fan and reads : 

Scene 17. 
Int. Strong Library— INSERT 

Telegram outspread on fan with two hands holding 
it. It is blank. 

Scene 18. 
Int. Strong Library— MIDDLE VIEW 
Isabel in her cold, almost cruel, rumination over 
this is interrupted by the return of Dave's Mother. 

Scene 19. 
Dave's Bedroom— FULL VIEW 
Dave like a wild Indian is peeling off his evening 
togs. 

Scene 20. 
Int. Strong Parlor— FULL VIEW 
One of the guests has just finished a solo on the 
piano, when Tony looks at his watch and then 
hurries to Mother, saying he must go. 

Scene 21. 
Int. Strong Parlor— MIDDLE VIEW 
Tony telling Mother: 

10. Spoken Title: 

"I've got to do a little slumming to- 
night for my paper." 
Isabel in particular seems intensely interested. The 
others crowd around and Tony is obliged to tell 

272 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

them all something about the underworld. Isabel 
pipes up with feigned girlish enthusiasm : 

11. Spoken title: 

"Why don't you take us down there with 
you — it would be so interesting and amus- 
ing !" 

Immediately this is echoed by the young people. 
Tony is uncomfortable now, hesitates, then tells 
them he will see. Goes to phone on table and 
talks. 

Scene 22. 
Bar Room at Harry's— MIDDLE VIEW 
IHarry answering phone, surrounded by typical ha- 
bitues, who for a moment look as though the place 
had been pinched. Then he recognizes Tony's voice 
and signals to the bunch that it is all right. Replies 
cordially affirmative, hangs up receiver, turns full 
of business on those about: 

12. Spoken title : 

"There's a bunch o' swell suckers comin' 
down — make 'em think they're seem' hell 
with the lid off!" 

At which point in the Scenario we arrive 
where the stage play began — in Harry's Bar 
Room a few minutes before the arrival of the 
"swell suckers." The foregoing twenty-two 
scenes were required to establish the coinci- 
dences that come thick and fast in the story 
that follows. We have tried to bring out the 
characters and their relationships. We de- 

273 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

sired particularly to reveal Dave's attitude 
toward the society he was born in. We must 
establish reasons for his wanting to get out 
and do something exciting. We put them all 
in the pepper-pot of contrast and they are 
self-wound with motivation. We can readily 
conjecture what each character introduced 
will do under a given extraordinary situation. 
The following Photoplay was produced 
under the same title, with Pedro de Cordoba 
and Evelyn Greeley in the leading parts. 

(EXAMPLE 134.) 

CAPTION 1. 

JUST A SONG AT TWILIGHT 

CAPTION 2. 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

CAPTION 3. 

PART I. 
"LO, TO THEIR HEARTS LOVE 
SANG AN OLD SWEET SONG—" 

Scene 1. Corner of luxurious Living Room 
Lucy Winter and her Wealthy Suitor are just part- 
ing. He folds her in his arms and she turns her 
head away, showing that she is accepting his atten- 
tions for other reasons than love. He hurries from 
the room with a self-satisfaction that does not see 
through her distress. When he has gone Lucy 
looks at the big solitaire and shudders. 

274 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

Scene 2. Library 

Stephen Winter sits drumming nervously with one 
hand on the library table waiting for Suitor to 
exit. Winter springs up as he enters and asks him 
all about it. Suitor with continued self-satisfaction 
tells Winter, Of course, she accepted him! The 
two go out arm in arm, smiling happily. Winter 
seems greatly relieved. 

Scene 3. Same as 1. Living Room 

Lucy has burst into tears and sits wiping her eyes 

and looking sadly out of the window sobbing. 

Scene 4. Hallway of Mansion 

Suitor is passing out of front door, which Winter 
holds open. He closes door and breathes a deep 
sigh of relief as though what he has long wished 
for has come to pass. He pauses in mid-career as 
Lucy's sobs assail his ear. With genuine anxiety 
and a crumbling of his happiness he hurries to 
Living Room. 

Scene 5. Same as 1. Living Room 
Winter enters in pained amazement. He tries to 
soothe Lucy in vain. He looks at the ring and asks 
if she does not want the Suitor. Shakes her head, 
No. Winter is distressed. Says he will get her 
everything money can buy, at which she retorts : 

CAPTION 4. 

"OH, I WANT THE THINGS MONEY 
CAN'T BUY— TRUE LOVE, ROMANCE, 
AND HAPPINESS!" 

275 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Note. — Thus in five scenes we establish the 
characters of father and daughter and strike the 
keynote of the story. In Part II of this Photoplay 
— Example 135 — We introduce a novelty by going 
behind the present action for thirty years. 

(EXAMPLE 135.) 

CAPTION 23 

PART II. 

"SOFTLY WOVE ITSELF INTO HIS 

DREAM." 

CAPTION 24. 

"FATHER TIME LEADS BACK THE 
CONSCIENCE OF WINTER TO RE- 
VIEW HIS LIFE." 

Scene 46. Village Street — not far from the Man- 
sion 

A ragged urchin (Winter as a boy) going aimlessly 
along the road with his dog, a switch in his hand. 
Suddenly, for little apparent reason, after having 
stubbed his toe, he begins chasing the dog, beating 
it with the stick as though the animal had been 
responsible. 

Scene 47. Same as 1. Living Room 
Conventional figure of Father Time enters and 
walks to Winter, who is still sleeping. The posture 
of the sleeping man never changes. Father Time 
taps Winter on the shoulder three distinct times. 
IRIS IN 

276 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

The Spirit of Winter slowly rises to a sitting pos- 
ture and looks up at Time in awe. Time beckons 
and the spirit of Winter follows him out of the 
room. 

Note. — And so the three middle Parts are the 
Spirit of Winter in his dream reviewing his past 
life. The audience sees this life unfolded. In 
Part V he awakens and we return to the period of 
present time as depicted in Part I. 



"Bonnie Annie Laurie" (Example 136) 
was produced under the same title with June 
Caprice in the title role. This story was sug- 
gested by the song, but is in no wise a para- 
phrase of it. It came about through the pro- 
ducer's crying need for a costume play for a 
storyless star. 

(EXAMPLE 136.) 

CAPTION (Title): 

BONNIE ANNIE LAURIE 

CAPTION 2. 

BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

BUSINESS : 

We open with a double page of music with the 
words of the song "Annie Laurie." 

277 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

CLOSE VIEW 

1. 

(So that the audience may read music and words 
and hold until time is given to play part of air by 
orchestra.) 

"Maxwelton Braes are bonnie, 
Where early fa's the dew ; 
And it's there that Annie Laurie 
Gi'ed me her promise true — 
Gi'ed me her promise true, 
Which ne'er forgot will be, 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie, 
I'd lay me doon and dee." 
(Double expose into — ) 

CLOSE VIEW 

2. 

Face of Annie Laurie enframed by the pages. 
Annie's face may express the emotional line of the 
entire story by opening with a brilliant smile, broad- 
ening to a laugh, then winsome, then tragedy, love, 
then back to the happy smile — all done in a brief 
flash. 

(Fade music into — ) 

CLOSE VIEW 

3. 

Annie's face alone. She turns her head listening. 
(Open diaphragm until we see — ) Annie standing 
knee deep in flowers on a flower-covered slope. She 
holds a half-picked bouquet of daisies which she 
waves spiritedly to — 

278 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

CLOSE VIEW 

4. 

Donald singing, with all his heart and soul in the 
expresion although he sees nothing of her. 

CAPTION (Insert) 

3. 

"And it's there that Annie Laurie, 
Gi'ed me her promise true — " 

FULL VIEW 

5. 

Annie making a cup of her hands and calling 
mischievously, then ducking down and hiding among 
the flowers. 

FULL VIEW 



Donald stops in the middle of a line and his face 
is wreathed in smiles at the sound of Annie's voice. 
He is perplexed that he cannot see her anywhere. 
Annie's head and laughing face is seen lifting above 
the flowers. Donald goes dashing across the field 
toward her. 

FULL VIEW 

7. 

Donald catches up with Annie and she turns a 
smiling breathless face to him. Donald turns se- 
rious. 

CAPTION 

4. 

"Come now, Annie Laurie, the song on my lips 
was but an echo of the song in my heart — gie me 
your promise true!" 

279 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

Note — Setting, atmosphere and key were essen- 
tials in the very beginning of this play. 

In conclusion we present the opening 
scenes of "The Gay Old Dog," from the origi- 
nal scenario by Mrs. Sidney Drew of Edna 
Ferber's story. This Photoplay stands on 
record as one of the finest examples of Photo- 
drama, much of which is due to Mrs. Drew's 
artistry as a scenarioist. 

(EXAMPLE 137.) 

(1) 

HOBART HENLEY 

Presents 

MRS. SIDNEY DREW'S 

adaptation of 

"THE GAY OLD DOG" 

by 

EDNA FERBER 



(2) 
(3) 
(4) 



Direction of 
HOBART HENLEY 



The "Gay Old Do<r" 
MR. JOHN CUMBERLAND 



THE GAY-DOG BUSINESS WAS A 
LATE PHASE IN THE LIFE OF 
JIMMY DODD. HE HAD BEEN QUITE 
A DIFFERENT SORT OF A CANINE. 

280 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

Scene 1. 
Interior — beautiful cafe — fade in closeup — 
a middle-aged man — a plump lonely bachelor of 60 
years — establish the fact that the waiters know him, 
that the captains are his closest friends — show Jim- 
my Dodd trying to get away with the jaunty youth- 
fulness that every one of his fat-encased muscles 
rebels against. 

(5) 

IT WAS ONLY RECENTLY THAT 
WAITERS HAD FOUGHT OVER JIM- 
MY—ONLY RECENTLY THAT HE 
HAD ORDERED THINGS UNDER 
GLASS, OR MIXED HIS OWN SALAD 
DRESSING. 

Scene 3. 
Interior — cafe 

Waiter comes in with a large tray on which are 
all the ingredients that go into making a good salad 
dressing — much attention is being paid Jimmy. It 
may be a good thing to show two or three good 
types at nearby tables, who recognize him. 

(6) 

IN ORDER TO KNOW JIMMY DODD, 
ONE MUST GO BACK TWENTY-FIVE 
YEARS, WHEN HE WAS YOUNG AND 
HANDSOME AND TWENTY-SEVEN. 

Scene 3. 
Dodd dining room 
Fade in — show Jimmy at the head of the table, 

281 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

young, smiling, a devoted brother of three sisters and 
a doting mother. This will no doubt be a closeup 
of Jimmy. He is engaged in the interesting act of 
eating supper. Looks up and smiles at — 

Scene 4. 
Close up of Mrs. Dodd. 

A dear old gummidging mother — she is a quaint 
character about whom there must be much sym- 
pathy. 

(7) 

A DUTIFUL, HARD WORKING SON 
(IN THE WHOLESALE HARNESS 
BUSINESS) OF A WIDOWED AND 
DOTING MOTHER, WHO CALLED 
HIM JAMES. 

Close up of mother again as she smiles at Jimmy. 

(8) 

THERE WERE THREE UNWEP AND 
SELFISH SISTERS. EVA, THE OLD- 
EST, KEPT HOUSE EXPERTLY AND 
COMPLAININGLY. 

Scene 5. 

Close up of Eva as she sits to the right of her 
mother. 

(9) 

CARRIE DODD TAUGHT SCHOOL— 
AND HATED IT. 

Scene 6. 
Close up of Carrie eating dinner — a regular school- 
teacher look on her face. 

282 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

(10) 

STELLA, THE YOUNGEST, WAS 
CALLED "BARE." HER PROFESSION 
WAS BEING THE FAMILY BEAUTY, 
AND IT TOOK ALL HER SPARE TIME. 

Scene 7. 
Close up of Stella. 

She really isn't a beauty except in comparison with 
the other two sisters. 

(11) 

THIS WAS JIMMY'S HOUSEHOLD- 
HE WAS THE NOMINAL HEAD OF 
IT, BUT IT WAS AN EMPTY TITLE. 
THE FOUR WOMEN DOMINATED 
HIS LIFE! 

Scene 8. 
Dodd dining room — 

Long shot of the family as they rise from the table 
and exit toward the living room. 

Scene 9. 
Dodd living room — 

Show the four entering and seating themselves in 
easy chairs — Mrs. Dodd with her knitting— the girls 
with their sewing, etc. — Jimmie falls into the old 
arm chair in the corner or in front of the old- 
fashioned fireplace. 

Scene 10. 
Close up of Jimmie as he sits in the chair — the even- 
ing paper before him. 

283 



THE FEATURE PHOTOPLAY 

(12) 

THERE WERE MANY THINGS 
ABOUT THE SLOW-GOING MASCU- 
LINE MEMBER OF THE DODD FAM- 
ILY THAT THEY NEVER SUS- 
PECTED. 

Scene 11. 
Medium shot of the women, intent upon everyday 
topics that interest women. 

Scene 12. 
Close up of 

Jimmie as he smokes — his face takes on a new and 
strange light as he smiles and looks into the future. 

(13) 

TIMMIE DODD WAS A DREAMER OF 
DREAMS. 

Note — And so on — nearly two hours of sheer 
delight. In this photoplay something is done which 
it was prophesied never could be done by the 
movies — and it is true the "movies" never could do 
it. Here is a slow-moving, incisive, excruciating 
study of characters. The kind of study that fiction 
excels in and Drama revels in — done as well as 
either of them could do it by the silent Photodrama ! 

"The Gay Old Dog" should be used as a model 
for study by directors. Here is a page from life 
with real people rousing our emotional concern as 
though they were our own flesh and blood! 



Photodrama is not a hit-or-miss means c 
filling an idle hour. It is one of the Arts- 

284 



SPECIMEN SCENARIOS 

which are just as essential for man's rounded 
life as meat and drink— that should offer him 
the intimate companionship of Beauty, the 
strong hand of Courage through the experi- 
ence of fellowman, the lesson of Righteous- 
ness as its own reward, the desire for the 
comradeship of clean and noble Characters, 
the tonic to their imagination in draining fine 
Deeds and the joyous Goodness that lies in a 
healthy Entertainment after the moil and toil 
of the day's work! 

THE END. 



285 



The Writer's Monthly 

A Journal for All Who Write 



This journal stands supreme among author's 
magazines, and goes to more writers as a class 
than any other periodical. The idea which it 
has fostered is "systematic helpfulness" — a 
torching spirit which appeals alike to editors, 
who offer their counsel freely in its columns, 
to established authors, who explain their meth- 
ods, and to the young writer, who wants to 
know "what to write, how to write, and where 
to sell." 



"THE WRITER'S MONTHLY is a valuable 
help to all writers, regardless of age." — Edwin 
Markham. 

"Such a magazine coming in once a month is 
like handshakes from a fellow craftsman." — 
Mary Roberts Rinehart. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE 
Per Year, $3.00: Canada, $3.25; Foreign, $3.50 



THE WRITER'S MONTHLY 

A Journal for All Who Write 
SPRINGFIELD. MASSACHUSETTS 



OTHER VOLUMES IN 

THE AUTHORS' HAND-BOOK SERIES 



THE PLOT of the SHORT STORY 

BY 
HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

Author of " A Complete Course in Short Story Writing," "A Complete 

Course in Photoplay Writing," "A Complete Course in Plot 

Construction/' "Art in 8hort Story Narration," "The 

Photodrama," and formerly Associate Editor of the 

"Metropolitan Magazine." 

Introduction by Matthew White, Jr., Editor of "Argosy" 

The only serious work on Plot Sources, Construction and 
Analysis there is; just as valuable to Photoplaywright as to 
Fiction Writer. 

"An amazing book. I recommend it to every writer seek- 
ing light."— ROBT H. DAVIS, Editor, All-Story Weekly. 

"Beginners will find the book invaluable and advanced 
writers too will find out why they have not done even 
better." — Boston Globe. 

"It's mighty nourishing to have a message like the one 
contained in your book."— RICHARD WASHBURN CHILD. 

"Everything relating to the germinating and development 
of plots is touched upon and analyzed." — San Francisco Call, 

"Analyzes the Plot and is worth the attention of every 
practical writer." — The Independent (New York). 

"As applicable to the Photeplay as to the fiction story." 
EPES WINTHROP SARGENT, (In the Moving Picture 
World) . 

"The most practical hand-book for Photoplaywrights 
ever written."— E. V. BREWSTER, Editor Motion Picture 
Magazine. 

It is certainly a fine little work !**— ARTHUR LEEDS. 

"This hand-book may be regarded as the best thing of 
its kind extant." — North Carolina Education. 

"It is an excellent thing excellently done." — JACK 
LONDON. 

A Thousand Other Testimonials ! 

Now in its Third Large Edition. 

PRICE POSTPAID $1,25 



PUBLISHED BY 

THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL_ 

SPRINGFIELD. MASS. 



Other Volumes In 

THE AUTHORS' HANDBOOK SERIES 



The Universal Plot 
Catalog 

By Henry Albert Phillips 

Comprising an examination of the elements 
of plot material and construction, with a com- 
plete index classifying the elements of plot ma- 
terial. "Anybody who can help you run a plot 
to earth is a friend from on high. Get him by 
the coat-tail," says Homer Croy. This book 
does it. 

Price separately, $1.25 ; with the Phillips Au- 
tomatic Plot File and Collector (see below), $8. 

PHILLIPS AUTOMATIC 
PLOT FILE AND COLLECTOR 

An essential supplement to "The Universal 
Plot Catalog." Will hold more than 10,000 
items. Any phase of fiction, drama, human emo- 
tion or endeavor can be located, filed or produced 
in a few seconds. 

Together with The Universal Plot Catalog, $8. 

(The book is necessary to the use of the Plot 
File and Collector. To those already possessing 
the "Catalog" the "File" will be sent alone for 
$7.00.) 



PUBLISHING BRANCH 



THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL, INC 

Writers' Books That Lead the Way 

SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS 



Where and How 
To Sell Manuscripts 

A Descriptive Directory for Writers 
Compiled and Arranged by 

WM. B. McCOURTIE 



Lists 6000 markets, names 4500 editors. 
Gives the editorial preferences of Standard 
Periodicals, Women's Journals, Agricultural Pa- 
pers, Publications for Boys and Girls, Religious 
Magazines, important Newspapers and Syndi- 
cates, Educational Journals, Sporting and Out- 
door Magazines, Picture-Play Journals and 
Markets, Photographic Magazines and Markets, 
Buyers of Greeting-Card Sentiments, Play Pro- 
ducers, Little Theatres, Musical Journals, Music 
Publishers. Art Magazines, Trade and Special 
Publications, Book Publishers, Foreign Maga- 
zines, and Foreign Publishers, Fraternal Publica- 
tions, House Organs. 

Includes an authoritative chapter on Authors' 
Rights by J. Berg Esenwein, Litt. D., editor of 
The Writer's Monthly, a digest of the Copyright 
Law, standard contract forms, and topical and 
alphabetical Indexes. 



PRICE, $3.00 



THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL, INC. 

Writers' Books That Lead the Way. 

SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS 



OTHER VOLUMES IN 
THE AUTHORS* HAND-BOOK SERIES 



THE PHOTODRAMA 

The Philosophy of Its Principles, the Nature of Its Plot, Its 
Dramatic Construction and Technique, Illumined by Copious 
Examples, together with a Complete Photoplay and a 
Glossary, making the work A PRACTICAL TREATISE 

By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

Of the Contributing Staff of The Edison Studios and Y. M. C. A. 

Lecturer on Photoplay Writing; Well-Known Authority 

and Feature Play Writer. 

Introduction by J. STUART BLACKTON 

Pioneer Manufacturer, Author and Producer and Secretary of 

Vitagraph Company of America. 

Epes W. Sargent (In The Moving Picture World) says: 

"A book that can honestly be commended. It is a book worth 

while. Better still, it is not a rehash of any work, but original 

in treatmenc and thought." 
Russell E. Smith, Editor of The Famous Players : 

"THE PHOTODRAMA is the best thing of its kind." 
Marc Edmund Jones, Editor The Equitable Film Corporation : 

"I recommend THE PHOTODRAMA wherever and whenever 

I can." 
Prof. C. H. Getz, Dept. of Journalism, University of Montana : 

"I find it one of the best technical works of any kind that has 

ever been written." 

THE PHOTODRAMA, PRICE TWO DOLLARS 



ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION 

A Searching Analysis of the Qualifications of Fiction in 
General and of the Short Story in Particular, with Copious 
Examples, making the work A PRACTICAL TREATISE 
By Henry Albert Phillips Introduction by Rex Beach 

"Have read it with continued interest in your works." — 
BRANDER MATTHEWS. 

"The book is admirable; as a canon of literary good taste it is 
faultless." — Toronto Mail and Empire. 

"Teachers will find much in Mr. Phillips' book that will help 
them." — America. 

" You have treated your subject with great justice and discern- 
ment."— ANTHONY HOPE. 

" I find it full of suggestions." — WILLIAM J. LOCKE. 

" 'Art in Short Story Narration ' is a wonder book. A constant 
source of enthusiasm'. It answers all the vital questions so perplex- 
ing to the beginner." — NELLE JACKMAN. 

PRICE, POSTPAID, $1.25 

THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL 
SPRINGFIELD. MASS. 



Writers' Books That Lead the Way 

from the list of 

THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE 

SCHOOL, INC. 

Springfield, Mass. 



JOURNALISM 

Editorials and Editorial-Writing — by Robert 

IV. Neal—$Z 
Writing for the Magazines — by Dr. J. Berg 

Esenwein — $1.75 

FICTION 

Writing the Short-Story — by Dr. J. Berg 
Esenwein — $1.75 

Studying the Short-Story — by Dr. J. Berg 
Esenwein — $1.75 

Art of Story Writing — by Esenwein and Cham- 
bers— $1.50 

Technique of the Mystery Story — by Carolyn 
Wells— $1.75 

PHOTOPLAY, ETC. 

Standard Volumes on Photoplay, Photoplay 
Synopsis, Writing for Vaudeville, Versi- 
fication, Play-Writing, Popular Song, 
Public Speaking, etc 

Catalog on request. 
PUBLISHING BRANCH 1 — 



THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL. INC. 

Writers' Books Thai Lead the Way 

SPRINGFIELD. MASSACHUSETTS 



C 118 




•To " <&*" °u *••*• *y <j> *•■« 




«A^ •«-'•♦ ^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2007 






%, J> 



5 *%° PreservationTechnologie 

0* ^ A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIC 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
^ fy ' (724)779-2111 



^ * v 



xr» +~3 9 £Z 













.<** .££;♦ \. 






■»P*.».i^'.% 

















'..." .V 



% "•>■> 



V «o 




tc. A*' /, 



v -•"•-■ %. j>\&k:* 



V «S° ^^ .•) 












£%. 






% 



» ^ 



;• ^°- v> 






y ^ 










^^ 






WERT 

-bookb;n'd i> -,c 

Cra'rmil'e. Pa. 
Mav— June 1,96"- 






*6? ;, 







4? * 



s ;\ \^ • 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

021 156 382 5 



